


How You Play the Game

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Champion Tier, Gen, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-16 17:13:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14169654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: At the beginning of a new school year, when players have left, and new kids join the club, it's all about bonding. For Suna Rintarou, this also involves a vow to stay away from the Miya Twins shenanigans. But a road race, a cocky new 'kouhai'  who isn't all he seems, and Kita-san's ever-watchful eye means no one can slip under the radar - not if they want to be part of the team, and take on all-comers at Nationals.





	1. Shenanigans

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fic for brofest. I entered on the Champion Tier level, so get ready for a chaptered fic of Foxy Shenanigans, not to mention Malarkey! 
> 
> There are five chapters, each focused on a different player.

At the start of year two, Suna Rintarou had four aims for his year two journal:

  * Inarizaki High will win Nationals (twice).
  * I will play on the team.
  * I will stay out of any Miya ‘antics’
  * I will catch Kita-san doing something very un-Kita-san-ly.



(Winning both the Inter-High and Spring High was a given, and not a necessary addition to his list, but just in case, he thought he should put it down.)

But on the very first day of the new school year, he fell into the Miya twin trap, a trap innocuous to begin with (wasn’t that the way the best traps should be?) a snare devised by the simple words ‘Let’s wait for ‘Tsumu. He won’t be long.’ which led to a prolonged entanglement, in which his complicity could not be excused by ignorance.

He should have listened to Ginjima, who’d been rolling up and down on his toes, fiddling with his kitbag strap before tugging on Suna’s sleeve, whispering a ‘We’ll be late,’ but not soft enough for Atsumu, barrelling out of class after a reprimand from his sensei, to hear.

“Newbies introducing themselves first. It’ll take a while to register them all.’ He grinned, clapped Suna on the back, then stepped to the front. “C’mon, let’s make our entrance.”

 But registration had passed without any of the fuss of last year (Fuss, Suna remembered, being caused by the fact that the twins kept pissing about with their forms, insisting each was the other.) and by the time the four of them had hot-footed it to the gym, the first years were already standing at the front and giving their ‘Take Care of Me’ speeches.

“See, we’re late,” Gin hissed, scurrying in and sliding across the floor. “Sorry!”

And of course Aran scowled at them all, Oomimi glared at Suna, expecting better from his protégée and Kita merely let out a sigh before clearing his throat. “Please go on,” he said, directing his question to the boy currently stood, shoulders square, hands clasped behind his back, and eyes focused on the back wall.

The newbie first year offered a quick smile to Kita

 _(Oh, that’s brave_.)

And coughed. “As I was saying. My name is Akagi Michinari, and I’ve recently moved here from –”

“That’s not a Kyougo accent,” Osamu hissed.

“’As I was saying’,” Atsumu mocked, sounding out the consonants and shortening the vowels. “Is that a dig at us? What the heck is this guy on?”

“Cocky,” Osamu agreed.

“Northern?” Suna wondered.

 “Hokkaido,” Gin murmured. “That’s what he said.”

“Northern punk thinks he knows better than us, right, ‘Samu?”

“Won’t happen, ‘Tsumu.”

 Aran swivelled his head, glaring back at the four of them. “WILL YOU SHUT UP?”

Akagi was watching with what appeared to be amusement on his lips, as he bit one of them before finishing. “I play Libero, and I’m honoured to be amongst such … uh … an illustrious team.”

“Guess we are kinda illustrious,” Osamu whispered.

“Well, I am,” Suna said, snorting, then mentally kicked himself for joining in.

“Hey!” Atsumu literally kicked him, or rather gave a toe poke. “Northerner, pfft. And another Libero—” He rolled his eyes. “Hey, ‘Samu, ain’t that kid on the end a Libero from Junior High?” Osamu nodded.  “So that brings us up to four. How many more do we need?”

“He must be good if he got a place here,” Gin whispered, chewing the side of his mouth.

“Maybe he’s smart,” Suna replied. “This could just be an after school club for him.”

“Check out Yukimura-san,” Atsumu muttered, making a minute gesture with his head to where their current third year Libero was sitting, cross-legged between Oomimi and Aran. “He’s not happy about it.”

He was a guy both the twins liked, snarky, always up for a laugh but diligent, too, so the reservations Suna had were ones he’d never given a voice to.

“We all need competition,” he said instead, and gave Osamu a wink. “Hey maybe there’s a decent Setter in this bunch.”

Atsumu, about to respond, was caught in the sudden glare of a Kita headlamp stare as he turned around for the second time that session, and hugged his knees to his chest, smiling sheepishly.

“Please take care of me,” finished the wannabe Libero, and gave a low extravagant bow, the sort of bow both twins had done last year (at exactly the same time) thinking they were hilarious, but now this theft—albeit unintentional—of their signature move only enraged them more.

It was customary on that first day, after a wave of hellos and exchange of names, for Inarizaki to embark on a road run, rather than a full-on session in the gym. The Spring break for some had meant time away with families, so not everyone was sharp and road work ensured cohesiveness.

Well, that was the idea.  The Miyas from their very first day had started with the team, then when one of them inched forwards—it didn’t matter which one—the other would follow and before long they’d be streets ahead of the others. At first Suna had thought everyone had to keep together, and he’d certainly seen Aran pick up his pace, but Kita’s fingertip touch on his arm had kept him at bay. Atsumu and Osamu had arrived back at the gym before the rest of the field, still bickering over who had got there first, while the rest of the team, from third years to new not-even-day-old members had gelled together laughing.

“I don’t mind you running in groups,” Kita said as he gathered them together before the off. “If you don’t know the area—” His eyes flickered to the newbies, and in particular to Akagi who was apart even from them, “—then join a group you’re comfortable with. This isn’t a race, by the way.”

“Ha … riiight. I got you, ‘Tsumu.”

“Maybe, Kita-san’s got a point,” Atsumu pondered.

Huh?

Three pairs of eyes turned on him—Suna’s included.

“What are you babbling on about?” Osamu chastised his twin. “Or are you going soft on me?”

“That newbie wanted us to take care of him, right?”

“And?”

“We could show him the sights.”

“The countryside…” Osamu latched on.

“That’s it! I’m not being a party to murder!” Suna interjected.

But it was too late. Atsumu had already ‘yoo-hooed’ to the captain that they’d be only too happy to run with one of the first years ‘how about … uh … Aka … Aka … Sorry, what was your name?’

“Akagi Michinari,” he replied, then squinted. “And you’re Miya Atsumu, Setter, second year, pinpoint toss and wicked spike serve.”

“Maybe,” Atsumu grudged. He poked his brother. “This is—”

“Miya Osamu, Wing Spiker, second year, Jump Serve, and a whip like spike.” He inclined his head. “I’d be honoured to run with you guys.”

 _Oh, don’t smirk,_ Suna groaned, and cast a glance at his Captain, who was watching the exchange with suspicious eyes.

“You don’t have to,” Kita said. “Perhaps you’d rather run with us.”

“Whoa, I’m in demand,” Akagi joked, and inclined his head to Kita. “Thank you, Captain-san, but I’ll run with these guys.”

“If you’re sure.” Kita sounded dubious.

“Yup. No problem I’ve heard a lot about the ‘famous’ Miya twins.” Arms akimbo, he grinned again, one side of his mouth twitching while his eyes were wide in an expression of innocence. “Love you guys to show me the ropes.”

 _They’ll lynch you._ Suna shot a despairing look at Kita, but he nodded.

“That’s fine.” He turned away, then looked over his shoulder. “Suna-kun, Gin-kun, run with them. I want all five of you back together.”

_I won’t get caught up in this._

But the circumstance of being in the same year as the accursed twins, and Gin with his puppy-dog eagerness already nodding agreement, meant he already was.

He brought out his phone, tapped the camera icon and took a selfie, captioning it ‘Sigh’.

***

Less than halfway down the dirt track leading out of the back of the gym, the group of five were already leading the pack. It had been a warm day, even for April, but as the sun began to descend, and a breeze rippled through the air it was the perfect temperature for roadwork. And usually it was a discipline Suna enjoyed. A chance to clear his head as his feet pounded out a steady rhythm. Of course, usually it was a discipline he carried out with the team. As a whole. Or rather the team minus the Miya brothers who would have stormed ahead. And now as he ran, his head wasn’t clear but already paying attention to the minutest of gestures from the twins.

They rounded a corner and Suna narrowed his eyes as Atsumu slid next to Akagi.

“So, you’re from the north, right?” Atsumu began, his voice suspiciously careless.

 “Yup.”

“Sorry?” Osamu said, jogging alongside.

“Yup. I’m from Hokkaido.”

“Hkkdo!”  Atsumu scratched his head. “Not heard of that. Have you heard of it, ‘Samu?”

“Sounds foreign, ‘Tsumu.”

“He said Hokkaido,” Gin supplied, and smiled at Akagi. “I went to the Sapporo Snow Festival once. It’s nice.”

With Atsumu pulling a face at Gin, Osamu drawled, “Oh, Hokkaaaaiiido.”

“Dooo yoooou skiiiiiiiiiii?” Atsumu asked.

“Huh?”

“Skiiiiiii?” Atsumu repeated, exaggerating his accent, then backing it up by pumping his arms as if holding ski poles.

“Maybe he’s an ice skateeer,” Osamu said, speaking very slow and loud. “Or … what’s that thing like a skateboard?”

“Snowboard,” Akagi replied. He flicked his fingers through his hair, restoring the quiff that was starting to wilt. “Yep, I can ski. And I used to skate.”

“Used to?” Gin asked.

He huffed out his cheeks, although he didn’t appear to be breaking a sweat yet. “Lot of commitment and I preferred volleyball.”

They ran for a while longer, the gap lengthening between them and the rest of the pack. Suna checked over his shoulder, but all he could see was Aran at the front, and the Kita’s blond mop of hair. And deducing his captain must have noticed they’d sped up but hadn’t acted upon it, he sighed again and made sure he kept pace with the others.

“Why did you move here, then, Akagi-kun?” Atsumu asked.

Did Suna imagine a twitch of an eyelid from Akagi?

“Uh … Dad’s new job,” he replied. “He’s an obstetrician.”

“Say what?” Osamu asked, right on cue.

“Ob-ste-trician,”  Akagi said, much slower. “Delivers babies.”

“Oh, riiiiight. That accent.”

“Cute,” Atsumu agreed and wiped his eyes. Then his smile disappeared. “Why Inarizaki?”

“Best team in the Prefecture. Why wouldn’t I want to come here?”

“Yah, but we kinda have a lot of Liberos, already. Three, I think.”

“He’s the fourth, ‘Tsumu.”

“Yeah, ‘Samu, I meant not including Akagi-kun, here.”

Akagi drew level between the twins so all Suna could see was his back and heels, but his voice floated on the breeze, and neither he nor Gin needed to strain to hear.  “You have three Setters, don’t you? Four if we’re including your brother, Miya-kun.”

And Suna could almost feel the slow and identical blink from the pair of them.

“We’re _second_ years, Akagi-kun,” Suna piped up. “But yes, we have three Setters.”

“Competition keeps people on their toes,” Akagi said, and grinned over his shoulder. “Hey, are any of your Liberos Setters, too? Do they toss for you?”

“Why, do you?”

“Not really. I can, I guess, but it’s not my speciality.”

“Ah, youth,” Atsumu drawled and lengthened his stride. “Having a speciality at such a young age.”

“What is it?” Gin asked, tripping a little as he tried to keep up.

“Saving Jump Float serves.”

Suna winced. Beside him Gin was blinking rapidly.

“Jump float, eh?” Osamu murmured, keeping his head straight, not in any way signalling to his brother.

“You any good?” Atsumu was blunt and his toes pressed heavily into the ground as if he were about to run faster or perhaps spin around and launch a toss.

“Well, I’m –”

“He could help you, ‘Tsumu. Like, you need an opponent if you’re going to stop floatin’ that ball on your head.”

“I could help,” Akagi chirped. “Back in Obihiro I sorted out a kouhai’s wild attempts.”

Atsumu’s head whiplashed to the right. His profile rigid, Suna couldn’t tell if he was more annoyed with his brother or the upstart Libero between them.

“My attempts aren’t wild,” he said, his jaw clenching.

“Ah, I was just saying,” Akagi replied, holding up his hands. “My kouhai had a problem with his run up. Do you run up? Or is it a stationary toss?”

“He trips up,” Osamu snorted.

“ONE TIME!” snarled Atsumu. “ONE TIME! AND YOU CAN’T STOP GOING ON ABOUT IT!”

“It was funny, ‘Tsumu. Weren’t it, ‘Tarou?”

Holding up his hands, Suna shook his head refusing to get drawn in.

“C’mon, you took a photo!”

Atsumu twisted round. “You did what!”

“’Course he did. It’s what ‘Tarou does,” Osamu drawled.

“And a video,” Gin chipped in, and earned a glare from Suna.

“Gimme that!” Atsumu demanded. “If you share it, I’ll deck ya!”

“Guys, guys, cool it.”

Huh?

It the Libero. Akagi Whatever His Name Was. The Noob.

He was jogging a bit ahead of them, looking over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t we be running, not arguing?”

The twins dropped back. “Is he for fucking real?” Atsumu hissed.

“No respect,” Osamu agreed, his scowl deepening.

“Tellin’ us what to do!”

“Tellin’ you how to serve. He’s a Libero. What the fuck does he know ‘bout serving?”

“Is there any chance at all that you’re going to ignore this?” Suna asked, sighing when the pair of them gave identical wicked grins. “It’s his first day.”

“Maybe they do things differently in the North,” Gin offered. “And he doesn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

The subject of their discussion was jogging backwards now, slowing a little, to jump up in the air. “The others are quite a way back. I can see Oomimi – he’s a Middle Blocker, right? Whoa, so tall. Are any of them fast? Will they join us?”

Not if they value their sanity, Suna thought, and wondered—briefly—if he could feign a twisted ankle so he could drop back and get swallowed up by the rest of the team.

“Aran-san won’t want to—” Ginjima began then bit his lip, hesitating to supply more information than was necessary.

“Run with us,” Suna filled in. “Atsumu and Osamu have usually streaked ahead by now.”

“And the Captain?” Akagi asked. “Not one that leads from the front, then?”

It was an innocuous remark, and yet to their ears it was loaded. Perhaps Akagi merely meant that Kita-san wasn’t keeping up with them.  Looking back, Suna wasn’t altogether sure that it was the heavy accent that jarred at them, making the words aggressive rather than relaxed. He was prepared to ignore it, and wondered whether to ignore everything by plugging himself into his music, but not before he’d seen Ginjima’s eyes widen as he started to splutter, and the Twins exchange a ‘look’.

“Leading from the front can mean you miss things,” Suna replied, his voice a mixture of mild and sour. “Better to have everyone around you.”

“So wise in one so young,” Akagi joked. “’Course if you run like I’m doing, then you can keep an eye on everyone.”

For the four watching, there was a moment of unity and shared happiness, when Akagi—still jogging backwards—stepped into a wheel rut and landed on his ass.

It served him right – cocky first year git – but the effect was short-lived, when instead of moaning, Akagi rolled over, sprang to his feet and started to laugh. “I promise you, I’m not this klutzy on court.”

“Wouldn’t worry ‘bout that,” Atsumu replied. “You’ve got at least a year before you get there.”

Akagi continued to laugh, waggling his eyebrows. “Yowzers! You don’t beat round the bush, do you?”

“Realistic,” Atsumu replied. “We have a decent third year, two second years and another kid in first year.”

“And Inarizaki’s that hierarchical, is it? Someone better has to wait because a guy might be a few months older?”

“No we earn our place on merit,” Osamu grilled.

“Ah, that’s good to know.” Grinning again, Akagi turned around, facing the front. “Which way now?”

“It’s—” Gin began, pointing to the right which led to a leafy path in the shade.

“This way,” Atsumu interrupted and sprinted up to Akagi. “This is hill work. C’mon, ‘Samu and I will run with ya.”

“Sure will,” Osamu agreed.

Hill work. Not something they did on the first day back. Not when some team members had been away. Not when the team were supposed to stay together and no one wanted to risk injuries to knees before the first session or practise match. Of course the Twins would be all right because they were fanatical about fitness to the extent that nothing would get in the way of their daily run, but for a newcomer—and one unused to the pace they set—it would be carnage.

 _Akagi was a cocky git, and one that needed taking down a peg or five,_ Suna thought, reaching inside his pocket for his headphones. _I can ignore this._

(Come to think of it Atsumu was a cocky git who’d needed taking down a peg or twenty in his first year, and only now wasn’t causing Aran-san whack him continually, merely once a session.)

“Should we do something?” Gin whispered, fretting again.

At that moment Akagi looked back at them, the smile on his face a touch lopsided. “Coming fellas?”

“I … I’m sure I know him,” Gin breathed, and sped up. “Have we met, Akagi-kun?”

“Don’t think so,” Akagi replied, sounding smooth.

Gin cocked his head to the side. “Your face is familiar.”

“You prob’ly saw him at the Ice Festival,” Atsumu muttered.

“They say we all have a double,” Akagi joked, and turned away from Gin, eyes to the front as he gestured with both his hands to the runners either side of him. “Does that mean there are four of you, I wonder.”

Which was quite funny, when you thought about it. Only neither Miya was thinking, just intent on finding sarcasm in everything the Hokkaido kouhai had to say.

Which wasn’t good. Kita-san’s face loomed large in Suna’s mind, his entreaty for Suna to accompany the Twins and the new boy. And as tempting as it was to ignore the plea, because heck knew this could be his best chance of capturing an enraged Kita on camera, he also had this irritating urge to do the right thing.

“Akagi-kun,” he said. “Drop back with us. Hill work isn’t essential.”

“Reallly?” He didn’t look back. “Wonder why? What are you guys gonna do then?”

“I’m runnin’ up that hill,” Atsumu muttered. “’Samu?”

“Me, too. Come with us if you want.”

“Or take the easy path,” Atsumu mocked. “Guess you Liberos don’t need as much stamina as the guys who’re on court all the time. Stick with the Middle Blockers like Suna there.”

Akagi didn’t even falter, but pushed his hair off his face. “Lead on, boys. I like a challenge.”

“Akagi!” Suna tried again. “You shouldn’t—”

“I’m good, Suna- _san_ ,” he yelled back. “Thank you, but I’m sure these guys will take care of me.”

_That’s what I’m worried about._

Well, worry was a bit strong. Mild concern, maybe. The Twins wouldn’t break Akagi.

Would they?

“I don’t want to run up the hill,” Gin muttered. “Aran-san says it’s really not good for the knees.”

Sighing, Suna tugged on Gin’s sleeve, forcing him to slow his pace. “I’m going right. Akagi-kun will learn, the way we all have.”

Gin’s expression lightened a touch. “It’s like some sort of initiation, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, you could say that. Maybe that’s why Kita-san agreed Akagi could run with them.”

Looking happier (and remarkably puppy-like again) Gin veered to the right, down the slight incline and towards the leafier route. Suna followed, glancing back only once to see the other three begin their climb.

And then there were two …

This could be looked upon as a Good Thing. Certainly now that the twins had gone, Suna could no longer be deemed responsible for their behaviour, nor could he get dragged into their shenanigans. And it was better being with Gin because although his teammate was ultra-keen, he was also mindful of staying uninjured.

The downside was that they were now alone, and Gin was one of those runners that liked to talk. Constantly. It wasn’t that he needed in depth answers to his chatter, but he did require some interaction or else he became crestfallen. In a larger group, Suna could plug into his music because there was always someone willing to play along, but with only them, he’d have to jog and let the words flow over him. Maybe he could think of something else, start planning his new Instagram collage for the new year.

Mmm … He could have Aran-san at the centre this time, get a shot of him slamming down a spike, capture  Atsumu stretching out to toss, Osamu leaping as a decoy. Ren-san was always at his fiercest, looming over the net, Kita-san … Ideally, he pondered,  he’d like a shot of him playing, but if not, that moment when he led the team to the stadium his cherry-red jacket flaring out from his shoulders. Idols indeed. Intimidating the crap out of their opponents before the first point had been played.

He was jumping ahead of himself. This was his first collage, so practice shots, the starting team line-up—including Kita—in training kit. Maybe he could include shots from this first run, show the team spirit, the cohesiveness and—

Oh, no, they weren’t that cohesive. With all the new members and the loss of the older players, this was an exercise in bonding. He went through the starting line up in his head, mentally arranging them in an aesthetic way, rather than by height or number order. Someone was missing, There was a space where a player should be. One he hadn’t quite fixed as a team member. Of course no one’s place was certain. Injury happened to the best of them. It was just possible, too, that Gin wouldn’t live up to the promise he’d shown at the back end of last year, although he was sure to get a game.

They’d reached the path, where the trees blocked out the dying rays of the sun when he realised something. He’d planned his collage (mostly) and Gin hadn’t said a word. Glancing at him, he saw only intense concentration, but his mouth wasn’t moving.

“Hitoshi-kun?”

“Hmm?” He broke his stride pattern a little, adding a bit of a skip as he looked across. “Huh, what was that?”

“You’re very quiet.”

“Thinking.” He gnawed at the lip. “I swear I know Akagi from somewhere, but I can’t place him.”

“You have been to Hokkaido. Maybe you saw him then, like Osamu said.”

“Atsumu,” Gin corrected. “Um, and no, I don’t think so. I was eight, so we’d both look very different.”

“Perhaps he’s got one of those faces. You know, some people look familiar.”

“Uh … sure.” Gin shook his head slowly. “Or have I seen him at Nationals?”

“We were first years at Spring High. He couldn’t have been playing.”

“Guess not. Unless he has a brother…”

And he was off, now discussing every possible permutation of relative Akagi could have that Gin could have seen, and where he could have seen him/them. He worried at it, like a dog trying to get the last piece of marrow from a bone.

The collage he’d been so carefully constructing shifted in Suna’s mind, pixels merging until it was a blur of black, white and cherry red, and no distinction.

“We should speed up,” he muttered.

“Hmm?”

“If Kita and the others see we’re not altogether, then we’ll be in shit. First day back, and I’m really not in the mood for Kita-san’s silent treatment.”

“Then we should have run up the hill?” Gin groaned.

Tapping his nose (hoping it made him look enigmatic and not as if he had an itch) Suna picked up his pace. “They have to come down again, and they’ll use the path that joins up with us by the pond. We can wait by the stile.”

“What if they get there before us?”

“They might be fast, Hitoshi-kun, but they’re not superhuman. This is a much shorter route, and we’re running on the flat, not uphill. Just … keep up, okay?”

There was no danger of Gin not being able to keep up. He had speed—explosive bursts of it—the danger being he’d recklessly charge ahead only to wear himself out before the finish line. Having partnered him in many of their first year activities (usually split up mid-session, so one of them could keep a twin intact), Suna  had the measure of him now. Gin fretted about ‘stuff’ when on the sidelines, but on court he would take responsibility, powering down a spike when he had to. A boy reacting on instinct—not always in the best way—but he took whatever disapproval came his way, bouncing back like a volleyball, higher than before.

For a while the only sound came from their sneakers on the ground, and Gin’s exhalations in perfect time with his own. It was a comfortable run, even though they’d sped up, and looking back there was no sign of the chasing group. Looking up, peeping through the trees, there was no sight at all of Miyas or Akagi, but then they’d only be visible if they’d made it to the summit, so there was nothing to concern him.

We’ll cut them off at the pond, regroup and return to the gym. If they want to run ahead, they can, Akagi-kun will surely have learnt by now not to race them.

“What do you think of him?”

“What’s that?” Suna asked, jolted out of his plan by Gin’s rather plaintive voice.

“Akagi-kun. What do you make of him?”

“This isn’t you trying to work out if he’s your long-lost third cousin twice-removed, is it?”

“No,” Gin replied, sounding sure. “The Twins didn’t seem to like him.”

“I think they’re not used to someone as cocky as them appearing.”

“He wasn’t that cocky,” Gin protested, “just … uh … confident.”

He was gnawing on his lip again, that vague disquiet clouding his words. And for a brief moment, Suna considered playing up to this, inventing a Dark Past for the newbie, saying how much he resembled the ghoul on the horror series he was watching and watching Gin recoil. He resisted the urge. It would only fuel Gin’s uncertainty.

“I don’t know him,” Suna said instead. “He’s a Libero, so I expect I’ll be playing with him at some stage.”

“In a match? What about Yukimura-san?”

“Practise match,” Suna explained, then wondered why it was necessary to explain. Surely Ginjima must have known what he’d meant. There was no way a third year would lose his place to an untried first year if they were good enough …

_If._

Unless … unless …

Unless the First Year was another genius. That could explain why Yukimura had looked so bootfaced.

_Ohh, interesting …_

“Do you ever check stats, Hitoshi? Or awards?”

“What sort?”

“In volleyball magazines. You know, the pages where they announce Best Newcomer or whatever.”

“Well, yes, sometimes.”

“Then … Do you think Akagi’s a promising Libero, or something? Maybe that’s why the name’s familiar.”

“Oh.” He pondered the idea, then shook his head. “It’s not his name. It’s the face. But I could check when I get back and go through the Middle School stats.” He blinked. “Why?”

“Uh… no real reason.” He swallowed, still not wanting to give a voice to the niggling doubt in his mind. “Look, there’s the pond. Let’s wait.”

A breeze was rustling at the leaves, sending blossom floating groundwards. A few petals settled in Gin’s hair and he scrubbed them off. Smiling, Suna remembered last year when Atsumu had stood in the face of the blizzard until he was drenched in pale pink and beaming beatifically at his brother’s similarly anointed hair. It was in the early days of their friendship—more acquaintances at that stage—but it had also spiked the start of Suna noticing differences between the twins. Osamu had tutted, dragged his fingers through his hair to remove most of the petals, and muttered that he was hungry and wanted to get home.

“They’re coming!” Gin yelled. “Oh—”

“What?”

“There’s only two of them. It’s just them. Not—“”

Whipping round, Suna followed Gin’s wildly gesticulating finger, and immediately saw the problem. “Where’s Akagi-kun?”

“Maybe he’s just behind?” Gin’s voice had become a hopeful squeak.

“No… no … look at them!”

The twins weren’t running their hardest, they weren’t even running in a straight line, or in anyway focused, but looking around, leaping up and down and a cry could be heard, a cry that reached Suna’s ears and sent his insides swooping..

“Akagi-kun?”

 “Where are you?”

“AKAAAAGIIIIII!”

Gin reacted first, charging up the hill to yell, “YOU’VE LOST HIM?”

And Suna began to run.

“Hey, hey, not our fault!” Atsumu protested.

“We-ell, technically, I guess it was,” Osamu contradicted.

“What happened?”

The pair of them turned to him, veering away from Gin, who was flailing his arms and attempting to continue the search.

“New boy prank, that’s all,” Osamu explained. “’Tsumu said we were gonna race – just us two – and told him we’d wait at the end for him.”

“Only, we slowed down and hid, waitin’ for him t’ go past,” Atsumu butted in. “And you went along with this ‘Samu, so don’t you go givin’ the impression this is all down t’ me!”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. We was only going to follow him from a distance, wait for him to get really lost and panicky, and then we’d have come to the rescue.”

And it was kind of mild, as twin pranks went, so Suna was pretty sure they were lying, or at least not telling the entire truth but whether they were deliberately withholding information, or this was their version and they didn’t believe anything else, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

And certainly had no time to debate.

“I’m going!” he announced.

“Rin!”

“Don’t!” He shook off Atsumu’s hand on his shoulder. “I am not getting dragged into your shenanigans … _again!_ ”

“’Tarou?”

“No, ‘Samu, this is your dumb fault and your dumb problem and I don’t want to get into shit because the pair of you decided it was your job to teach a mildly cocky kouhai a lesson!”

“Rintarou, please …”

Groaning, he stared back into the teary eyes of Ginjima.

“It’s his first day and he won’t know the area,” Gin beseeched. “He might have sprained an ankle or something.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s a point. Maybe he’s injured!” Atsumu said, his eyes brightening.

“And you’re looking pleased, why?” Suna asked wearily.

“’Cuz that ain’t our fault,” Atsumu retorted. “And now we can find him, help him back, and we’re the good guys!”

“Niiice!” Osamu gave a small grin. “’K, let’s retrace our steps. You comin’?”

“Sure!” Ginjima agreed.

And Suna sighed, his acceptance tacit, not because of the Twins (he assured himself of that) or even Gin’s puppy dog eyes, but because Kita-san had said ‘Run with them’ and he hadn’t.

“Oh … shit!” Gin had blanched.

“What now?”

“The others,” he said, pointing. “Look, they’re about to get to the path. They’ll be back before us and—”

“No one is going to believe that _we_ got left behind,” Suna finished.

“They’ll come looking for us,” Osamu added, pausing to swig some water.

Atsumu started backpedalling. “How ‘bout I run back and … uh … cause a diversion?” Make excuses, that sort o’ thing!”

“No way. Your mess. You’re sortin’ it out,” Suna growled. He snatched Osamu’s bottle, took a glug, then tossed it back. “I’ll go. Gin, come with me. We’ll cover for you.”

 _And get into shit for not sticking with you,_ he thought darkly.

“Why are you taking Hitoshi?” Atsumu argued.

“Because shit-fer-brain,” Osamu snapped. “How likely is it that ‘Tarou woulda gone off by himself? It ain’t.”

Well, he wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but Osamu was right. He tugged on Gin’s arm, pulling him away before there were anymore objections

Skeltering down the hill, their one objective was getting back to the gym. If they told the others that the twins and Akagi had gone a different route, there wouldn’t be any disbelief. Disappointment, perhaps, from Kita-san, but he had tried to keep Akagi with him. Hadn’t he?

I could have been more forceful, I suppose.

“It’s not … your … fault …” Gin panted as they reached the path again.

Surprised at Gin’s perspicacity, he faltered in his stride. “I know that.”

“Your face doesn’t.”  He inhaled sharply. “We both told Akagi-kun not to go. And … it’s not like we have any influence over _them_.”

_True._

“Come on …” Ginjima grinned. “I know a shortcut.”

“Sneaky!” Suna said as he was led through a gap between two trees. “Why have you not shown me this before?”

Laughing, Gin sped ahead. “That’d be cheating, but this is an emergency, right?”

The short cut narrowed, a stream on one side and a hedgerow on the other, not allowing them to run side by side. Suna followed without questioning, oddly comforted by Gin taking the lead, especially as with the early blossom petals in his hair, they might just have garnered enough luck for this all to work out.

“How do you know this way?”

Gin looked over his shoulder and gestured to a small row of houses in the distance. “My Grandparents live over there.”

And as they charged down this narrow track, with Ginjima now chattering about the weeding he had to do in his grandparents’ garden, and how they’d got him to help some of the neighbours too, Suna saw ahead of them the roof of the gym and increased his pace.  The path widened, and soon they were running across the school field, catching sight of the gym door, and the wooden steps leading out of it.

And a figure sitting on them.

Lounging, to be more accurate.

Gin stumbled. “Isn’t that …”

“Akagi!” Suna yelled. “Where did you get to?”

“Ah …” He stood up, waving at them. “Sorry guys. I wasn’t sure where you’d got to so I—”

“How did you get here ahead of us?” Gin demanded skidding to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

“Shortcut.” He shrugged. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure what route you were taking.” And then he smirked. “Those twins were racing ahead, and I’m sure they didn’t _intentionally_ leave me behind, but … you know …”

Yeah, they knew.

Squirting some water over his head, then shaking himself off like a dog, Ginjima eyed Akagi curiously. “I do know you,” he said at last. “It’s not just ‘one of those faces’. We’ve met, haven’t we?”

Akagi considered, tilting his head to the side as he assessed. “Ginjima Hitoshi, Wing Spiker, number five, explosive potential, and future Ace … perhaps? Don’t get excited. I watched videos of you guys when I found out we were moving back here. But I don’t think we’ve met, Ginjima-kun. I have a pretty good memory, so I’d know.”

Suna pounced. “ _Back_ here?”

And Akagi made as if he were about to answer, but just then a shout from behind had them all turning to see Aran and Yukimura sprinting across the field.

“You’re alive then,” Aran greeted them, and nodded to Akagi. “Our pestilential pair didn’t wear you out.”

“Nope,” Akagi replied. “I didn’t give ‘em a chance.”

“So, where are they?” Yukimura asked, looking around.

“Not back yet,” Suna replied, hoping he sounded smooth.

Clearly he didn’t sound quite as nonchalant as he’d hoped because Aran’s eye twitched, his Miya radar on constant alert.

“Why not?” His question sounded like a growl. A don’t you dare fudge this. A declaration that if they lied, he’d hold both Suna and Gin personally responsible for whatever shenanigans the twins had got themselves into.

They were saved by Kita’s arrival with the rest of the pack, slowing his steady pace as he approached. He looked the same, a little pinker in the cheeks from the exertion, but as cool and unflappable as ever. Suna’s finger didn’t itch to take a photo; he had several like this one already. Nothing new here.

Although …

Would he throw the twins under the bus to get his dream shot?

“We split up,” Akagi answered. “Sorry, Kita-san. I’m not as fit as those guys, and it was a shame to hold them back, wasn’t it, Suna-kun?”

“Mmm.” Suna hid having to say anything else by bending down to tie his laces again. Not that they needed retying, and he was pretty sure Kita wasn’t fooled because he was giving Aran a ‘look’ when Suna glanced up.

Akagi was at the top of the steps now, leaning on the wooden fence and breathing in the cooling late afternoon air.  And Suna watching him was once again struck by the confidence of this first year. He was at home with himself, comfortable in his skin, not stressing or nervous despite being new to the school.

_But not the area. He’s moved back. That’s what he said._

“Hey, there they are!” Akagi cried, and waved both hands above his head. “YO! OVER HERE, MIYAS!”

It was clear they were confused. Atsumu stumbled, then steadied himself by clutching his brother. Righted, the pair of them increased their pace until they were flying across the pitches.

They both began to shout. “WHERE WERE—”

“I was just saying,” Akagi interrupted, slowing his words, so there could be no mistake, even if his accent jarred, “that I couldn’t keep up with you on the hills so jogged along with your friends. That must have been some long-assed route you took, guys. I salute you!”

“Oh, well, you know,” Atsumu said, flicking his hair to the side and not looking the least abashed.

The team started to pile into the gym, wiping sweat from brows and refilling water bottles. The coaches would be along soon, handing out the practise schedules. But the five of them lingered, Akagi staying at the top of the steps, while the other four converged at the bottom.

 “Where was he?” Osamu muttered as he snuck alongside Suna.

“Here,” Suna replied. “He got back before us. Took a shortcut.”

“How does a first year who’s only just moved here know about shortcuts?” Atsumu hissed.

“OH!” Gin jumped, suddenly startled, twisted around and stared up at Akagi. “OH OH OHHH!  I know how I know you!”

“Say what. I told you we hadn’t met, Ginjima-kun.”

“No, we haven’t,” Gin said, and his face broke into a smile. “But I do know Kimura-san.”

“Who’s he?” Atsumu asked.

Osamu frowned. “Basketball, I think. Tall kid in Class four. No idea what he’s got to do with this.”

“No, that’s Kojima,” Suna replied.

Akagi let out a chuckle. “You know my Gran?”

“Yeah, she lives in the house opposite my grandparents. I look after her fish pond. And she invites me in for a soda sometimes and …” He took a breath. “Your picture’s on her sideboard.” And then his mouth gaped open. “B-but … her grandson’s seventeen and you’re—”

Akagi grinned, hands on his hips as he faced the four of them. “You guys missed the start of my little introduction, right?”

“We were a bit late, yes,” Suna agreed.

“Yeah, thought so. At first I thought I was hearing things, then I wondered if you lot didn’t have the same terms of respect that we had in Obihiro. But then it clicked. You’d not heard the whole speech, hadn’t heard the ‘Hi, I’ve lived away from here for eight years, but now I’m back and ready for my _final_ year’ yadder.”

“A third year?” Atsumu broached.

“And a local,” Akagi agreed. “Guess I gotta work on that accent though, eh, _kouuuhaiiiii?_ ”

He was mocking them, but faintly and under the circumstances, none of the four could complain.

“Thanks for not tellin’ on us,” Atsumu muttered, not sounding at all grudging.

“Hey, I’m a Libero. I got ya backs, okay?”

They all laughed a little at that, and slowly made their way up the steps and into the gym. But Akagi sipped on his water and Suna waited while he finished.

“Thank you,” he said. “You could have got us into trouble, so I’m grateful you didn’t.”

Akagi gave him a slow blink. “Suna Rintarou, Middle Blocker, Number 10, has an uncanny knack of grabbing points, serves from the first breath of the whistle, and …” He quirked him a smile. “First line of defence in the team. I hope we get to play together, Suna-kun.”

 _Mmm,_ he thought, and the niggles in his mind dissipated. “So do I.”

 


	2. A Rest Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes all Aran wants to do is play. Other times (infrequent it's true) he wants to escape and not have to think about moronic twins, a shit-stirring Middle Blocker, and the underground tensions bubbling under the surface that threaten to spill over.   
> So when a practice is cancelled, he takes a rest day. A day by himself to eat ice cream. But with the clouds gathering outside as well as in, he finds himself brooding on far more than team dynamics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for Aran's rest day comes from Chapter 282 of the manga.

Ojiro Aran had three aims written in his journal for his third year at Inarizaki.

  * Win the Inter-High
  * Win the Spring High
  * Become a top three ace



If he achieved either one of the first two, then the third would be far nearer his grasp, but right now it was not quite in his reach and he was still hovering—along with others in his scion—around the four, five and six mark.

The first two were not pipe dreams. Semi-finalists at the last Spring-High, and the Powerhouse school of their Prefecture, only a severe run of bad luck would stop them qualifying, especially as they had both Miya Twins playing this year, and if they hit form … (what was it about the word ‘if’, they were never _not_ on form.)

Bad luck?

Was there such a thing? Surely you made your own luck, although Shinsuke would say none of it was luck but the application of skill lain down by diligence and practise.

But Aran just knew that luck had its place, and no team could ride on it forever.

His phone flashed up a message in the team chat, and he clicked on it—somewhat wearily—wondering what idiocy Atsumu or Gin were spamming the chat with. But instead the message was from Shinsuke and he stared hard, rereading twice in case it was an error, before he sighed.

**[A pipe in the changing rooms burst overnight and is being repaired this afternoon therefore practise at the school is cancelled until Monday]**

Atsumu had slammed out a response. **[We can still meet up, right???]**

**[Other courts are already being used. Coach Kurosu-san has managed to book time at the University, but that is for Sunday.]**

**[We could go to the park!!!]** Atsumu continued. **[‘Samu and I’ll be there at 12!!!!]**

**[Will we?]**

**[Yeah, we will!]**

**[‘Samu don’t sound so sure]** Suna had joined in, adding a smirk emoji. **[Is he still asleep?]**

Osamu’s response took a while, so maybe he was asleep. **[Just … the park???]**

**[What’s wrong with that?]**

**[Cuz, ‘Tsumu, you get too excited by the swings and the BIG scary slide.]**

**[And the paddling pool]** Suna agreed.

And just as Atsumu began to send a series of unfunny stickers basically declaring his disgust for his brother and teammate, Shinsuke stepped in.

**[If people want to meet in the park, then that is fine. It will be unofficial, and I’m trusting you NOT to overdo things. Equally, if you want to do your own thing, then that is acceptable. Training at the University is at three pm tomorrow. Meet outside the school at 2:15]**

_Do my own thing … is that possible?_

Aran had planned to spend his morning inside watching TV, or getting on with his homework and watching his little sister for his parents. But when his Mum called off her planned shopping trip, complaining of a headache, Aran had unexpected free time. And although he could still have used the hours writing his essay, the morning sun beaming through a gap in his blind beckoned to him to enjoy the day.

Not a run though—Wednesday’s run was still niggling at his knee. Roadwork was always useful, but not something he wanted to overdo.  Maybe he’d even avoid anything to do with volleyball but head on out and get an ice cream, or a coffee and a magazine to flick through.

Odd though… the way that run had developed. The Twins accepting the new Libero into their cohort was such an unlikely occurrence, so unlikely he’d gone as far as to query Shinsuke’s acceptance of it, even if he had ensured Suna and Gin-kun ran with them.

“He’s tough,” Shinsuke had replied simply and refused to elaborate.

(Although that could have been because Yukimura had slunk alongside them, his ashen white eyebrows meeting in the middle as he took in the newcomer.

“What’s his game?” their number three had muttered.

“I don’t think there’s a game, Kaage-kun,” Shinsuke had replied smoothly.

“Why here, though? He must know who we are!”

_Why not?_ Aran had been tempted to snap. He understood Kaage’s trepidation, the goal of first team play having been dangled in front of him carrot-like for two years, and it must be hard seeing another third year waltz in, but then Akagi might just be nondescript and attending Inarizaki because he was smart.

“Maybe his parents live close,” he’d said instead.)

**[Hey, which park? I’d like to join you, if that’s okay.]** someone typed. Someone who wasn’t on Aran’s contacts list.

Yet.

**[Sure thing, Akagi-san.]** Ginjima replied. **[It’s the one closest to the school.]**

**[I’ll be there]** The response from Kaage was immediate.

Aran hadn’t heard of Akagi Michinari, but then he wasn’t someone who retained statistics the way Shinsuke did—or Suna come to think of it—and Libero was often the last position that flagged his attention.  Maybe he had got into their school on his smarts. Perhaps he lived next door to the school, or his parents were close friends of the Dean. Volleyball might be a hobby for him, something to make his college credits look good. An afterschool activity he’d give up as soon as he could. It didn’t _have_ to be his ability that had got him into Inarizaki, so Kaage could be worrying over nothing … and yet …

_He’s confident._

It might be the confidence of someone who’s never going to struggle to make the grade because he’s so good or because he’s mediocre and doesn’t care.

Aran shook his head. He didn’t want upsets this year. The Twins arrival last year had put established noses out of joint and for a while the atmosphere had been thick with smoke and flames. But phoenix-like what had arisen from the ashes of the old team (a third year Setter leaving before Inter-Highs, and a second year expecting to replace him quitting in a huff) had been a better team. The foundations had remained strong, but the shine had electrified. Talent, yes, but not just that. Atsumu’s work ethic, in particular, had inspired them all, and Aran knew he wasn’t looking too far over his shoulder to see the next Ace of Inarizaki in the incarnation of Ginjima at his back.

“Mum, I’m going out,” he called and grabbed his jacket.

“What about your schoolwork?” his mum asked, appearing in the hallway.

Homework could wait. He wouldn’t do it properly if he were sitting and brooding, anyway.

“Under control. I don’t have much this early on.”

“It’s your final year, not the time to be slacking off, Aran!”

“My practise has been changed to tomorrow. I need to speak to Shinsuke, anyway,” he replied, knowing that of all his friends, Shinsuke was the only one she wholeheartedly approved of.

“Oh, a study date, why didn’t you say?”

“Uh, yeah,” he agreed and then picked up his schoolbag, thankful he’d dumped the heavier books in his room last night. “Later then?”

“Back for lunch?”

“No, I’ll eat out. I mean at Shinsuke’s. I’m fine.”

I need air. I need time not to think about school or volleyball. I need …

I need a _rest day_.

It was cool outside, a smattering of rain misting his face, but not enough to drive him back indoors.  Aran lived closest to the school of the team, but they’d moved there after and because he’d got the place. He liked this road, liked the house they’d bought with the larger garden, and the neighbours were decent enough and hadn’t complained when he’d had the team over one time for an afternoon. Maybe it helped that the neighbours to his right were a young couple who worked most of the time, and that the lady to the left was old and partially deaf, so she didn’t hear the ruckus, but was also charmed by the matching Miya Twin smiles.

“Nice boys,” she continually said when she saw Aran. “Invite them over again and I’ll make you a cake.”

He glowered thinking about it.  Then kicked himself,

_I am not thinking about the Moron twins._

There was a coffee shop in town that he liked. One that served ice cream in cat-shaped bowls and although it wasn’t really the weather for ice cream, he was in the sort of mood where only ice cream would do.

Ice cream melting on his tongue, numbing his mouth briefly. The trick was to eat slowly, luxuriating in the taste when it was starting to liquefy so the flavour was at its best, but not so slow that it had all melted into a puddle before he’d finished.

Mmm, ice cream.

Except that café was a particular favourite of Ren’s and while he had nothing against Ren, today he wanted some time to himself.

He checked his phone, saw a stream of declarations from various members that they’d be at the park or couldn’t make it, interspersed with Atsumu and Suna’s constant meme war, and pondered his life choices.

A rest day was so tempting, even this early on in the term, but he owed it to the team to be there. As a third year he should set an example—

[How ‘bout a 3-on-3] Osamu messaged. [Me, ‘Tarou and Aran-san against ‘Tsumu, Gin and Oomimi-san.]

 [Cooooooool!]

[Four on four] Kaage typed. [Have a Libero apiece]

[I’m up for that.] the unknown number who had to be Akagi said.

[UR GOING DOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWN!!!!!!]

[Wanna bet ‘Tsumu. We got the Aaaa-ace!]

His jaw tightened; his throat felt as dry as sand and it would take a thousand bowls of melted ice cream to rehydrate him.

_They haven’t even noticed I’ve not replied and yet they’re makin’ their assumptions._ And with Kaage in competitive mode, which could easily drip-feed into sulking, where he’d again have to be the responsible one bolstering his confidence (because Shinsuke for all his good qualities was not adept with what he thought of as empty praise) the ‘fun’ practise in the park looked far more of a chore.

**_[I]_ **

Damn, he’d hit send before he’d thought out his excuse.

**[Aran-san?]**

**[Yay! HE’S HERE.]**

**[Be good playing with you, Aran]** from Kaage.

**[We could sort out teams at the park]** came a more measured response from Suna.

_Oh, what’s he getting at? Not more ructions!_

He could feel a twinge in his knee, which was dumb because there was nothing wrong and he wondered if it were possible for his knees to be psychologically affected by perceived tension in the team.

Okay, deep breath. And you don’t have to explain. **_[I can’t make it.]_**

**[Aran-san?]**

**[Huh?]**

**[?????]**

**[Why not?]** Even in a text, Ginjima sounded plaintive.

**_[Cardio session at the gym. See you tomorrow.]_ **

He was lying to just about everyone, but feeling incredibly unguilty, he muted the chat, stuffed his phone in his back pocket and headed for the bus stop.

Maybe he would go to the gym, but at the moment, a rest day with ice cream sounded … beautiful.

 

When he got off the bus, the drizzle had stopped and the sun had appeared from behind a cloud. Aran strolled down the street, taking it slow as he approached the café. He paused by a clothes shop, admiring the red shirt the mannequin in the window was posed in, and wondered if he could afford it. He squinted at the price tag. Or whether he could persuade his parents to buy the shirt. Fat chance, they were always complaining about how often his sneakers needed replacing. He walked away.

_Meh, when would I wear it? I never go anywhere._

He kicked a stone as he mooched along the pavement. The café was ahead, its pale green and pink sign glinting in the sun as it beckoned to potential customers. Taking in the nearly full café, he thanked his foresight in leaving when he had as any later and there’d have been no table.

“Ice cream, please,” he said to the serving girl.

She nodded automatically, reaching for one of the cat bowls. “Which flavours?”

“Uh… strawberry, vanilla and mango,” he decided and watched as she ladled the three scoops into the bowl, shaping it to form a cat’s head and ears, adding some chocolate chips for eyes and angelica strips for the cats whiskers. Her smile was wide as she handed it over to him, a girl pleased with her work and the ability to spread a small amount of happiness, and he couldn’t help respond.

“Ojiro-san!” She blinked, taking him in properly.

“S-sorry, have we met?”

“Izuki Mai,” she replied, her head bobbing from side to side. “We were at elementary school together. And I’ve seen you on television.”

“Ah, of course,” he said. “You always had … uh … pink cat hair bobbles, didn’t you?”

It was a good enough deduction. His elementary school had been awash with girls in his third year wearing cat hair bobbles.

“That’s right!” She beamed at him. “What a good memory. Good luck with volleyball this year. If you win, then bring the team here, won’t you?”

“Uh, yeah, possibly.”

“’Specially those Miyas,” she said and sighed, her eyes becoming dreamy.

“Yeah,” he sighed, but in a completely different way from her lovelorn manner, although he stopped it from turning into a groan. “’Specially them.”

It was when he’d sat down and had had his first half spoonful of ice cream (he tried the vanilla face first, delighting in the creaminess) that the café began to fill up. People came in all at once, not wriggling through to find a place to sit, but heading to the counter to order before meandering to the back of the room.  And a café that in Aran’s—admittedly limited—experience was normally inhabited by groups of girls or dating couples, was now filling up with young teenage boys.

He slunk further into his jacket, cursing the fact he’d worn his recognisable training top, and prayed to whatever deity was listening that no one from the volleyball club was among them.

The ice cream was good though. And no one was looking around to see who was sitting alone against a wall. And even if they were making noise, it appeared to be good-natured and not continued sniping which invariably boiled over into querulous yells and fists at the ready.

He smoothed some more ice cream onto his spoon, a larger amount this time and without thinking took it all in his mouth. Wincing as the brain freeze started, Aran pressed his fingers either side of the bridge of his nose and scolded himself.

Rest day.

Stop thinking about them. 

Any of them.

“Is everything okay?”

He blinked and focused outwards and onto the looming figure in green of his former classmate.

“Ah, yes, thank you, Iz- Izuki-kun,” he muttered. A wisp of memory fluttered in his head, of a girl—this girl—offering cakes in the playground on her birthday. He’d taken a cupcake covered in pink frosting, and someone had laughed saying it was a girly cake, so he’d lingered over a vanilla one, only to have someone snatch that first,  finally selecting a brownie only to find it dry and almost unswallowable.

“Is your ice cream alright?” she asked, the smile faltering.

 “Yes, yes it’s fine.”

A whoop went up from the back of the café.

“What’s going on down there?”

“Hmm?” Izuki glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, it’s the games club.”

“Gamers?” Straightening up, he peered around her, puzzled because he couldn’t hear any of the normal sounds, or see any screens and handhelds.

Shaking her head, she laughed softly. “No, _games_ , like board games and cards. Nothing electronic.  We hold it here on Saturdays. It started off small, but it’s so popular now that we’re thinking we might have to set up the back room for tournaments.” She had dimples in her cheeks, clearly enthusiastic. “Would you like sprinkles?”

“Huh?”

“On your ice cream. I forgot to offer them to you before. Although it does mess up the look of the cat, so maybe that’s why I keep forgetting. Mind you, have you ever seen a cat with one pink ear, one orange and a cream face?”

“And the green whiskers,” he added.

She giggled at that. “Everything’s all right, though, yes?”

“It’s good, thank you. I might get a coffee later, or a hot chocolate.”

“We have brownies. You used to like them at school, didn’t you? Or … oh, I expect you’re in training. Maybe you’d rather have a granola bar?”

He shrugged. “It’s my day off.”

“Ah, well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” she chirped and giving him another smile she whipped away, pausing only to pick up a tray from the table next to him.

_A brownie for a brownie,_ someone had shouted, and they’d all laughed.

He was alone again, people nearby having finished their drinks, and had now left or were edging closer to the games at the other end. The ice cream was meltier now, so he used his spoon to swirl over the surface, marbling the creamy face with strips of pink and mango. He could finish this quickly and maybe hot foot it to the gym as he’d said. He might be too late for the cardio class, but he could use the weights or get on the rowing machine.

His ears cocked, one sound itching its way through the excited throng in the café, and his glance at the window confirmed it.

Rain.

Not just rain, but a storm was brewing, dark grey clouds encroaching on this part of town. He’d stay here longer, play on his phone, or pick up a magazine from the rack and learn how to knit. He could even go and see what games the kids were playing.

_Ren doesn’t like storms_.

_Damn!_

They’d shared a dorm at the first Inter-High, and the weather had fluctuated between searing heat and storms, mainly at night. Ren, who looked so fierce even as a first year, had huddled on his futon desperate not to show the others how much the thunder and lightning rattling at their windows had scared him. It was Shinsuke who’d noticed, and had put down the book he was reading to ask if he’d like to play cards. With Aran and Kaage joining in, the distraction had worked and by the time the storm had passed, Ren’s shoulders had been as loose as usual. It was at that tournament away where the four of them had got closer—not only because they were first years—and it was also during those stormy nights away from home, where Aran had first taken Shinsuke seriously as someone who whilst he might not be a star player, was someone who was there, present, and alert to do the best he could.

(His eye had twitched when Aran had misdealt a card, and had suggested a new deal, which should have spoken volumes, but at the time Aran had put it down to tiredness.)

Lightning flared though the windowpane, and Aran had reached for his phone before the thunder sounded.

There was a stream of messages in the chat, starting with several pleas for him to change his mind and join them in the park, and then degenerating into bandied insults between the Twins and Kaage, before finally Suna sent a picture of a dog that looked like it was smiling, and Gin accidentally sent a picture of the ground to the group.

Akagi had been silent, so maybe he’d changed his mind about going, and Shinsuke had said no more. But then, Aran thought, he hadn’t said he’d be going, just that he’d see them tomorrow and the practise wasn’t official. It wasn’t like Shinsuke to skip practise and Aran wondered briefly if there was a reason for his non-appearance.

But nothing since, well, there wouldn’t be if they were all together. The rain was teeming, the sky almost black, and his fingers were already scrolling through his contacts.

**_[You okay?]_ **

No reply. What if the idiot twins had wanted to play on? No, Suna would have refused. But what if they’d sheltered under a tree? Ren would know not to, but what if in his terrified state he became immobile and was dragged there.

_Kaage… I’ll get hold of him …._

**_[Noticed the storm. Have you guys finished?]_ **

The reply immediate. **[Yeah, before it kicked off. lmao]**

**_[???]_ **

_Not more rows… please!_

**[Don’t think Ren’s the only one who gets antsy about storms]**

Frowning, Aran messaged back. **_[What?]_**

**[That new Libero mucked up a receive and hoofed it right out the park LITERALLY. Said it was slippery.]**

**_[Akagi did that?]_ **

**[Yup. Guess he is just killing time. Then Suna decided he’d had enough. Lightweight thought he’d dissolve after a few drops of rain.]**

Odd. Suna might not be as competitive as the Miyas (few were) but he rarely shirked. Aran rubbed his knee again, thinking.

**[And your kouhai said he didn’t want to slip and followed them off]**

Kouhai… so Gin.

**[So it was just me, Atsumu and Osamu and that first year. Tall kid. Wing spiker. Riseki, I think.]**

**_[The others have left?]_ **

Including Ren, he hoped.

**[Yeah we all have now. We might head for the gym, join you in a workout.]**

_Oh-oh!_

**[Or you could come and find us. I’ll text u]**

Ugh, he supposed he should. But … his ice cream was finished, but the rain was still hammering at the windows, he was warm in here and … what’s more, a batch of cupcakes was being carried through from the kitchen, with bright coloured frosting, and the smell wafting his way was comforting, wrapping lazily around him like a fox’s tail.

But if they were going to the gym, they’d find out he wasn’t there.

Another text appeared.

**[I’m okay]**

**_[Hey, Ren. Where are you?]_ **

**[in a shop.]**

**_[Kaage says you’re going to the gym]_ **

**[Not me. I’m waiting for the storm to die down then going home]**

**_[Are you by yourself?]_ **

**[I’m fine, honestly. Shinsuke reminded me breathe, to find shelter and not to put my headphones in.]**

Aran chuckled. **_[And not go swimming or do the washing up.]_**

**[That too]**

In his mind’s eye, he could see Ren’s almost smile appear. **_[How do you think he copes not being able to wash dishes or clean windows when there’s lightning?]_**

**[Extra polishing of the volleyballs, maybe.]**

The storm was passing, the thunder less crashing than earlier.

**[My bus is coming. We’re making a dash for it.]**

It took him a moment to compute. **_[We???]_**

Too late, Ren had probably stuffed his phone in a bag and wouldn’t reply.

Aran shrugged, and found the worry that had been clouding his thoughts had disappeared, replaced once more with the delicious smell of cupcakes wending their way through the air. Ice cream, coffee and cupcakes, not exactly a balanced diet for a volleyball ace, but then again, today he wasn’t the ace, but someone having a day off from all the nonsense.

The noise from the back of the café was ebbing and flowing, yelps then hissed hushes, reminding Aran of the cheer squad when Atsumu was about to serve (Stop thinking about him!). Glancing through the tables, he noticed some of the spectators had congregated round one table, but whether they were waiting for their chance or cheering someone on, he had no idea.

Two boys detached themselves from the throng, fidgeting their way to the counter. Selecting brownies and ordering drinks, snatches of their conversation reached his ears.

 “Nah, he always brings his own piece.”

“Lucky charm?”

“Yeah, pro’lly. He’s great. Got good strag…uh…startegy… uh… what’s the word?”

“Strategy.” Izuki had interrupted, and although Aran could sense the boys wanted to prickle at her interruption, they were disarmed by her smile.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“He’s a regular,” she continued. “Brings his own chess set and solitaire.”

“Does he always play? He’s kinda good.” The boy sounded as if he was put off, muttering his words as if it were blasphemy.

She shook her head. “No, he’ll play if someone wants a game, but mostly he teaches the younger kids and helps set up.”

Both boys took a table rather than returning to the games, one bringing out a pack of cards. Aran let their conversation wash over him, then stared at the raindrops trickling down the windowpane, some conglomerating until they slipped bottom-heavy, like fat tears down a cheek, others thin and nimble, taking a more diverse path, but all pooling on the sill.

**[Gym’s busy]**

Huh? Oh, it was Kaage. He’d not replied.

**_[Yes it is.]_ **

**[And cardio was cancelled.]**

Ack!

**_[Yes. I ditched it.]_** he lied.

**[Shoulda joined us.  Thought we were a team.]**

_Nope, I’m not having this._ He glanced at the counter, caught sight of the cupcakes again, and smiled at Izuki-kun. **_[What’s the problem? I’ll see u tomorrow.]_**

**[Our final year. We should all be making more of an effort.]**

**_[The team is more than us third years, Kaage-kun.]_ **

It appeared Kaage was typing, but thinking hard or deleting before he replied, and Aran stared at the screen for a while longer before it occurred to him that Kaage might not have realised he was mid-sentence and had probably stowed his phone in his pocket.  Making sure his jacket was on his seat, he returned the dishes and coffee cup to the counter, ordered a refill and tried to stop his mouth watering at the cakes.

Sitting back down, with just a coffee, he huffed out a breath. The trouble with taking a day off like this was that it was unplanned and maybe he should have put more thought into it, brought a book, or his homework, but all he had in his schoolbag was a volleyball magazine and an exceptionally dull maths book. And reading about volleyball was hardly giving himself a break—especially as this month’s issue featured ‘Miya Osamu – the Other Miya Brother’ in its schools’ section.

Idly he wondered if the constant implication that he was in his brother’s shadow, bothered Osamu any more than being Atsumu’s brother actually did. All those years before, Osamu had been marginally the better player, and in some ways he still was, but Atsumu—much as Aran hated to admit it—had taken on the task and improved inch by inch. He wasn’t streets ahead, but maybe half a footstep, but then in a block, in a toss, in the space you found to spike the ball, you only needed a millimetre to squeeze through.

He groaned at the ridiculousness of it. He just could not switch off. Maybe it was the person he was. Perhaps it was that this year was too important, that there were hills and mountains to climb and there was no way but forward on the road. He should have trained with them today, should not have taken any time off. Kaage was right and he—

_Hold on. I’ve been here an hour._ It’s hardly like I’ve quit the club. And he laughed suddenly, the noise erupting from deep inside, surprising the two boys munching their way through brownies and slurping milkshakes.

The rain had eased now, no longer thrumming at the glass. People appeared in the street, not scurrying past, but meandering. Children with brightly coloured boots splashed in puddles, their smiles brighter than the appearing sun.

And a duo under an umbrella, one of whom was wearing a cherry red jacket, the other in the blue of his former team, hovering outside the door. 

Dammit, they were coming in. Aran peered through the blurry window and counted his lucky stars it was just the pair of them.  There was no point in hiding behind a menu, or turning up his jacket collar and hoping their eyes would slide over him, Ojiro Aran was as recognisable as the Miya Twins, although not because he made a habit of appearing in Volleyball Monthly.

Ren raised his eyebrows, then his hand and pointed him out to his companion. With a smile, Akagi nodded, and after a word with Ren stepped over to the counter, leaving Ren to shuffle his way through the tables.

“Thought you were at the gym?” Ren muttered.

“Uh… well …” He crumpled a napkin in his hands, hiding his face as he wiped some non-existent coffee foam from his mouth.

He smiled, as much as Ren ever smiled, a twitch of the lips and his hard line of a mouth waving a touch. “S’okay, wasn’t sure you’d really gone. Can we join you?”

‘Course.” He pushed out a chair with his foot. “How was the park?”

Ren shrugged. It was the shrug of a person who didn’t need words, but he added one anyway. “Chaotic.”

“I never know if it’s better having that pair on the same team or against each other.”

Ren scrunched up his nose. “Wasn’t so much them. Kaage is … uh ...”

There were another three people before Akagi in the queue, so Aran leant across the table. “What do you think of the new boy?”

“He’s good. I reckon he got his place at on volleyball merit—not the exam,” Ren mumbled and hissed out a breath. “I feel guilty for saying it. That’s dumb, right?”

“We’ve known Kaage a long time,” Aran said mildly. “Is Akagi better?”

“Can’t really judge on one interrupted game in the park, Aran,” Ren replied. But he sounded vague and perhaps wistful, longing for a friction-free team.

“Hey, Ojiro-kun, would you like anything?” Akagi said, probably noticing him looking across.

“No, I’m fine for now,” he called, and indicated his half drunk coffee. “Tomorrow’s practise match could be interesting. Less stressful.”

“We hope,” Ren finished

A shout went up from the back of the room, just as Akagi came over with a shiny teapot for one, a soda and two cakes. “What’s going?” he asked.

“Games,” Aran answered. “Chess and stuff, I think.”

“Ah, right.” He grinned and sat down. “Not my sort of thing, really. Is that why you’re here, Ojiro-kun?”

He shook his head. “Not my thing either. I’m not a strategist. Don’t mind cards, but … uh … don’t really have a poker face.”

“Me either.” Akagi laughed. “I’m guessing the Captain and Suna-kun’d be good players.”

“Osamu, too,” Aran said, then gave a wry smile. “Mostly.”

“Thought he’d rather be tearing around outside, or running up hills,” Akagi said, sounding casual.

_Oh, hills? Hmm, what happened there then?_

“They would,” Ren replied after a pause, “but coach journeys, sitting in changing rooms or nights in hotels after games can be boring.”

Aran picked up the story. “If they don’t have something to them occupied, then—” He grinned. “It’s carnage.”

“Ah, yeah, we used to do that.” Akagi leant back in his chair eyes to the right as he remembered and again that lopsided smile that could be mistaken for a smirk, but Aran was beginning to realise was just his manner, appeared. “Marathon games of Monopoly. Gah, they were fierce.” He glanced at Aran and Ren, and then the smile vanished. “What have I said?”

“Monopoly’s a sore point,” Aran replied, and cupped his kneecap. “Too many versions. Lot of squabbling. Kita won’t play unless it’s done strictly by the rules—and he knows ‘em inside out—but the twins have this long family tradition, or so they say, and…” He trailed off and started to roll his shoulders. “Sorry, this all sounds dumb.”

“Not at all,” Akagi murmured. “It’s interesting, hearing how the team ticks along.”

It seemed a game had finished, as some of the boys at the back dispersed, one or two trotting for the door, others buying cookies before they resumed their play. Eyes turned their way, the way they often did, the sort of attention Aran was used to, and by association so was Ren, but not Akagi.

“Whoa, they’ve clocked you both. You’re famous right?”

“Not us,” Aran muttered.

With wide eyes, Akagi intoned, “Ojiro Aran, Number 4, Court Captain, Inarizaki’s Ace, fiercely strong, mainstay of the team, and one of the top five in the country.” He blinked and smiled at Ren. “Oomimi Ren, Number 2, Middle Blocker, Tallest member of the current team, anchor in defence. Unflinching. Face it, you guys are famous.”

Ren, too shocked at the stats being spieled out lost the power of speech, but seeing a set of girls now staring, Aran glowered. He held out his arm. “What do you see?”

“Uh … your arm?”

“Skin colour. I bet you have the stat for that, too, don’t you, Akagi? Ojiro Aran, Father Japanese Brazilian, Mother Brazilian.”

“Whoa, are you?”

“What?”

“Brazilian. Hey, do you speak Spanish?”

“No!” Aran snapped, then softened, the storm dissipating when Akagi flinched and the smile that had been on his face wobbled. “I can speak a bit of Portuguese.” He swallowed. “But that’s why people stare at me.”

_A brownie for a brownie,_ the kids at school had said on birthdays.

“No wonder you’re so good at volleyball,” Akagi breathed. “It’s like a religion in Brazil, isn’t it?”

And Aran laughed at his obvious awe. “It’s not football, so more like a minor deity.”

“To be fair,” Ren said slowly. “You are the third person they remember when they think about Inarizaki and volleyball.” He leant onto Akagi. “No one remembers Middle Blockers, or Liberos come to think of it.”

“Dammit,” Akagi sighed and snapped his fingers.

“That what you’re after?” Aran asked. “Fame and fortune?”

“Me?” He screwed up his nose as if seriously considering. “Wouldn’t say no to the fortune, but …” He looked down at his drink, the smile gone, and then peeped from under his fringe straight into Aran’s eyes. “What I really want is to stand on court. I want to play.”

And then, as if realising the atmosphere had become far too intense for a Saturday afternoon in a café, Akagi chuckled, peeled down the paper case of his cupcake, and started to eat. There was frosting on his nose, but he continued, unabashed, closing his eyes and commenting—mid-munch—on his ‘sublime’ eating experience.

Ren ate his far more sedately, breaking it in half and pushing the plate towards Aran. “Want some?”

“I had ice cream.” It wasn’t really an answer, but it satisfied Ren.

It was a companionable silence for a while, only a little stilted by the presence of a newcomer. Ren wasn’t the most communicable of people, and Akagi seemed to have picked up on that and didn’t make the mistake of filling in the conversation gaps with babbling. But after a last swallow of his coffee, Aran began to ask him questions:

(‘How are you getting on at school?’ ‘Fine, although the History-sensei doesn’t like me.’ Aran snorted. ‘He doesn’t like anyone.’  You have brothers and sisters? ‘A sister, younger, and an older brother but he’s in Kyoto at university.’ And the most basic question. ‘Do you like living here?’)

“Yeah, it’s fine. My grandma lives here, so I know the place.”

Outside the rain had stopped, the sun appearing and casting its weak rays through the window and sending the remaining droplets iridescent.

“It’s livelier than Obihiro,” he added. “Mind you, that’s not difficult. Unless it’s just the volleyball club.” Chuckling he sipped his soda. “Those twins…”

“Lively’s one word,” Ren snorted.

“Spirited’s another,” Akagi added.

“I like ‘exuberant’,” Ren replied.

“Moronic,” Aran growled. “Dumbass, idiotic, frustrating, shit-stirring—”

“No, that’s more Suna,” Ren disagreed, sounding indulgent.

Aran nodded. “Okay, I’ll give you that. Chaotic and challenging, though.”

“But still the most talented kids I’ve ever played with,” Ren said, no grudge in his voice.

“True.” Aran huffed out his cheeks. “Just wish they’d stop the crap. Let’s hope they’ve burned off enough energy and sniping at the gym, so it’s reasonably cohesive tomorrow.” He twisted to face Akagi. “They’re kinda known as much for their fights as their talent. Would rather they didn’t spill blood on a university court, though. Some of us might be using it next year.”

“Ah, ‘bout that gym visit,” Akagi muttered, his eyes flickering to the window.

“What about it?” Ren asked. “That’s where they were all heading.”

“But didn’t stay …” He trailed off and gestured with his hand.

And in slow motion, dread niggling not just at his knee but his head, Aran saw what Akagi could see.

A group of five (the first year had clearly gone home) looking in at them, and two noses, identical noses, pressed up against the window pane, and Ginjima—his smile wide—waving a hello.

“Oh hell!”

“Can’t avoid them now,” Ren sighed.

There was even a free table alongside them, one that Izuki cleared as soon as the five Inarizaki players wandered in. Bestowing smiles on them all, blushing a little when Atsumu spoke to her, she wiped the table vigorously.

“OOOOH, cupcakes!” Gin was enthusiastic.

“Ice cream’s goo-ood,” Kaage drawled. “We like it, don’t we, Aran-kun?”

And why did he make it sound as if they regularly met up to deliberately exclude the others?

“Too cold for ice cream,” Atsumu complained and huddled in his jacket. “And I’m soaked. They got hot stuff?”

Gin chewed his lip, wavering in his choice. “Drinks are hot.”

“I guess,” Atsumu wandered up to the counter, squinting between the customers to see what was on offer. “’Samu, I want a pastry.”

“And you’re tellin’ me why?”

“’Cuz I ain’t got my wallet.”

“And you have no money,” Osamu muttered, but he followed his brother, pulling out a wad of yen from his back pocket.

Gin was still fretting, not taking a seat while he studied the menu. “I don’t know what to have. We’re in training, right?”

“Be boring and eat a carrot, then, rabbit-boy,” Kaage snarked, but gave him a grin, perhaps believing it would take the sting out of his tone.

“They have carrot cake,” Suna said, his eyes far too firmly on his fingers. “Or fruit salad bowls.”

“But—” He was screwing up his eyes now, and as much as his hesitation in everyday life frustrated the hell out of Aran, he knew it was a habit he only did when he felt pressured or at fault.

“The cupcakes are great,” Akagi offered.

“We can tell,” Kaage replied.

“Huh?”

“You’re kind of wearing it,” Aran said, and handed over a napkin.

“Ah right.” He didn’t sound annoyed, wiping his face, then squinting at his reflection in the teapot to get rid of the final crumbs. “My Gran would’ve done that horrible spit into the hanky and wiped my face for me by now.”

“Kita-san would have done the same,” Atsumu replied, grinning at them all as he took a seat and set a plate of pastries in front of him.

“With wet wipes, though,” Suna amended.

“Keeps you all in line, right?”

“And that’s a problem?” Kaage questioned.

Akagi tilted back in his seat, raising his hands, palms outwards. “Not to me.”

“Some of ‘em need a firm hand,” Ren said, with a side-glance to Atsumu and Osamu, who having paid was carrying a tray.

“He means us,” Atsumu chirped, not the least put out. “Oooh, you got a cupcake.”

Osamu slapped his hand. “Hands off.”

“Halvsies?” Atsumu suggested.

“No, I don’t like raisins. You eat your own.” He moved away from Atsumu, scraping his chair across the floor until he was closer to Suna, then stuck up a menu as a wall between him and his brother.

“Cupcake!” Gin decided. “Rintarou, want anything?”

“Get me ice cream, will ya?” Kaage interrupted, fishing out some yen and handing it to Gin without looking. “Chocolate and vanilla. Also a coffee.”

“Uh… sure, Yukimura-san. Do you want two scoops of vanilla and one of chocolate, or—”

Kaage flapped his hand. “Surprise me.”

Suna got up, offering to help, and the pair of them joined the queue. It was hard to tell with Suna, but there was a slouch to his shoulders, and he appeared more closed in than normal, as if he were ready to drop or ready to leave.

At the back of the café, more feet shuffled, players swapping in for others, and a slew of kids dashed to the toilets, or joined the queue, some of them staring up at Suna and Gin, entranced it seemed by their height and jackets.

Aran watched and tried to attune his hearing to the kids’ excited chatter rather than the constant bickering of the twins.

“You know I don’t like raisins. That’s why you chose it!” Osamu snarled.

“Aw, but that looks good, and you could pick the raisins out.”

“NOOOO!”

 Worse because they were cooped up, he wondered if he should suggest they actually did go for a workout.

“Hitoshiiiiii,” Atsumu called out. “Will you get me a cupcake, too? I’ll pay ya back.”

“He won’t!” Osamu hollered. “Don’t do it.”

“Get it out of my money,” Kaage said, and rolled his eyes. “Jeez, you two are like kindergarten kids, you know that?”

He was smiling though, his eyes softening around the edges as he perused them. They liked Kaage, and he got on with them, although in Aran’s opinion he was close to egging them on at times. The Libero was a position Atsumu never found fault with, because he wasn’t there to score.

But Ren had tightened his lips, and Akagi was watching him thoughtfully. 

When Gin returned, with ice cream and cakes, and Suna brought two juices, Atsumu reached for the middle cake, licking his lips exaggeratedly as he smirked at his brother.

“That’s mine,” Gin muttered.

“The pink cake?”

“Yeah, I like raspberry,” he replied to Yukimura, sounding defensive.

“So do I.” Atsumu shrugged and took the chocolate one instead. “Thanks Kaage-san,” he said as he licked the frosting. “Gah this is good.”

“Any change?”

Gin blushed and shook his head but it was Suna who replied.

“There wasn’t enough. Atsumu, you owe Hitoshi, all right?”

“Jeez, what is this? I’m good for it. Just gotta wait ‘til next month’s allowance.”

“Which you won’t get, ‘cuz you’re still payin’ for that window you broke,” Osamu said.

“It’s a cupcake,” Atsumu protested. “That’s all!”

“But added to the drink Hitoshi bought you yesterday, and the protein bar the day before. Oh, and the noodles after our first practise …” Suna trailed off.

“Don’t shit stir,” Kaage snapped.

“I’m stating a truth,” Suna replied and turned away.

“He’s got more money than us,” Atsumu persisted.

“Because he earns it,” Suna said.

“Guys, it’s okay,” Gin mumbled.  He sat back in his seat, staring rather dully at the cake he’d selected.

And he looked so forlorn, hating the simmering row that for once had nothing to do with volleyball, that Aran jumped in. “Actually it’s not. Atsumu, you have got to stop scrounging.”

“Me?” He grinned cheekily.

“Yeah, you, moron. And Gin-kun, stop paying for him.” He fished into his wallet, handing over some money. “Right, I’ll pay on one condition.”

“What’s that?” asked Atsumu and Osamu together.

“You both shut up because I’ve got a headache and I’m sick of you arguing.”

And there must have been something in his tone of voice, or perhaps he’d scowled with more sincerity, because not just the twins, but Gin, and even Kaage nodded in agreement.

“Sure it’s Kita-san that keeps them under control,” Akagi murmured to Ren.

“Tag team,” Ren whispered. “But Aran-kun’s fuse is a lot shorter.”

A bell rang out across the café, Aran heard the throng of children wail ‘awww’ and then the sound of chairs across the floor and trudging footsteps as half of them left. The crowd clearing, reminiscent of a venetian blind half opening its slats to let the sunlight in, and one person got to their feet.

“It’s—” Gin fumbled his drink.

“KITA-SAAAAAAAN!” yelled Atsumu.

“I saw him earlier,” Suna yawned, blithely uninterested.

Of course.

Who else would bring their own pieces? Who else would have the patience to teach a bunch of kids, not only by example but by instilling discipline?

Hearing them, Shinsuke bowed to his opponent, raised his hand to his team, and continued to clear up. He wended his way over when all the tables were cleared, and refused the seat Atsumu offered.

“I heard you all,” he said, dusting his hand lightly over Atsumu’s shoulder. “You’re wet. Why didn’t you go straight home?”

“Too hungry,” Atsumu explained. “And ‘Samu wouldn’t let me share his umbrella.”

“Because,” Osamu said loftily. “You jostle too much and I end up getting’ more than half wet. And you shoulda brought your own. Mum did tell ya too.”

“You’ll catch a cold,” Shinsuke chided.

 “I was hopin’ he’d melt,” Osamu replied, and smiled. “What’s the deal with the games, Kita-san?”

“Teaches strategy and moments of quiet,” Shinsuke replied. His lips twitched. “You should come along.”

“Naww, I’m good.”

“But we should get home,” Atsumu sighed, and crammed the last of the cupcake and most of his raisin pastry in his mouth.

“Granny’s comin’ over this afternoon instead of Sunday,” Osamu explained.

“Tomorrow, two-fifteen,” Shinsuke reminded them both. “See you then.” He took Atsumu’s place, stacking the dirty plates to one side and selecting a wet wipe from his bag to clean his fingers. If Suna noticed, he didn’t remark on it, and Akagi didn’t either.

“This games club, Kita-kun,” he said instead. “Is it open to everyone?”

“Suckarse,” Kaage muttered.

With deliberation, Shinsuke ignored Kaage, and leant forwards, making sure he caught Akagi’s eyes. “I’m a mentor. It’s open to children up to the age of thirteen, so not everyone.”

“Bad luck,” Kaage continued, his voice still unintelligible to Akagi. “Have to try something else.”

“Huh?” Akagi changed his focus, eyes narrowing a touch as he glanced at Kaage before switching to Shinsuke. “But I could bring my sister along, right? She’s ten, and … well … kinda lonely with the move and everything.”

Shinsuke nodded. “Yes, bring her along. I’ll be here next week, too, and then we can leave for practise together.”

Kaage flinched, but as he couldn’t conjure up his own sibling, or even a cousin, there was nothing he could do. Instead he finished his coffee, pushed the bowl of ice cream away and said he had to leave. “Gonna hit the gym for real this time. Anyone coming?”

But no one moved. Gin was bunching up a napkin, Ren made noises about heading off home now the rain had stopped, Suna said nothing at all, and Akagi made an excuse and wandered off to the toilet.

“See you tomorrow, Kaage-kun,” Shinsuke said firmly. “Don’t overdo things. There’s nothing to prove, all right?”

_How does he know that? He’s barely been here,_ Aran marvelled.

But Kaage left, muttering under his breath and rolling his shoulders, annoyed at something that was out of all their control, for no one’s place was guaranteed and it was hardly their fault Akagi Michinari had moved to Inarizaki.

The tension dissipated after that. Gin and Suna managed to borrow some cards from the game cupboard and began a round of poker with Ren and Akagi. Shinsuke pled to be excused, saying he’d been playing all morning, and after buying two cupcakes, topped with the pinkest of icings, shifted to Aran’s table.

“Did you enjoy your day off?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Ha. How did you know?”

“I saw you when you walked in. I didn’t come over because I figured you wanted time alone. Time away from volleyball, and ‘shenanigans’.”

“More the tension, really,” Aran admitted. “And it wasn’t official, so …”

“It wasn’t.” Kita chased a sliver of frosting from his lips. “So, how was your rest day, Aran-kun?”

And he laughed. “Rest Day? I think I need another seven to recover. There’s no escaping them—any of them—you know that!”

“Would you want it any other way?”

Gin was eating another cake, one Suna had bought him. Suna sipped juice, eyes narrowing a touch as he studied his cards. Ren picked at some fruit, squashing a grape between his teeth. And Akagi, after taking a bite of a brownie, was dabbing his mouth with a napkin.

“They’re good guys,” he said at last, and picked up a cake. “No, I like it this way, Shin-kun. It suits me.”


	3. A Keen Bean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting a team to fit is a lot like gardening, Gin sometimes thinks. Weeding and deterring the slugs is something that needs constant effort in order to produce a bumper crop. And caring for koi carp has taught him about the necessity of balance and the importance of trust to ensure the best results. But he also knows how little it can take to muddy the waters when a fox appears from nowhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as ever to my tl, and to Furudate for Ginjima 'Keen Bean' Hitoshi. And thank you to hqbrofest for giving me a reason to explore this team.

Ginjima Hitoshi didn’t have a list of aims for the year. Not ones he’d written down. He’d started off thinking… ‘I want to qualify for Nationals’, scrubbed that out as unambitious, and wrote ‘I want to WIN Nationals’, then added ‘And Spring-High’ But then wondered if he needed to be more specific.  Should he add ‘this year’? And if he specified this year did that mean they’d never win again? He tore out the front page of his journal and refused to commit himself any further in case he jinxed it. But in his mind, he knew.  He wanted Inarizaki to win every game they played, that should cover every eventuality.

_And I want to play._

He’d slid into the first volleyball club meeting of the year, trepidatious and a little late. (Perhaps they were linked. Certainly he’d been relieved not to be on the end of Kita-san’s reprimand, or Aran-san’s sharp tongue.) Staring up at the new members, Ginjima had felt mildly reassured to see there were no giants, but he’d squinted at the first years who’d announced they were Wing Spikers, trying to divine whether they’d threaten his place. No one, he knew, had a divine right to play (Well, Atsumu, maybe) and he was well aware that despite being given a coveted single number shirt, there was always the chance he’d be sidelined or replaced. 

_I want to play,_ he’d thought again, the words thrumming a refrain in his head, then pounding out an incessant beat as they’d run along the track during their first road work session of the year.  He wondered if the first years looking at him had seen the same confidence that Atsumu radiated. Or Osamu. Or Rintarou, come to think of it. Would they look at him and think ‘one day’ the same way he’d gazed in awe at Aran-san when he’d first arrived? Aran-san, who’d landed a starting spot in the very first game in his very first year based on a reputation from Middle School that preceded him by more than the length of a volleyball tournament.

“Stop scowling and finish your breakfast,” his mum chided, swooping in to remove his empty juice glass. “I know this is Golden Week, but aren’t you supposed to be gardening this morning?”

He nodded as he swallowed down some tamagoyaki. “Gran and Gramps are away, though, so I won’t need to … uh …” He wondered if there was a polite way of saying he wouldn’t need to spend as much time in the house talking to them. While he loved them both very much, his Gran was garrulous and always insisted he stay for a proper chat (where she talked and he nodded) and a mid-morning snack that veered on the lunch side, leaving his stomach heavy. He finished off his food, smiling. “I’ll water the plants, pull some weeds and then go and see the neighbours.”

His mum ruffled his hair, the understanding tacit.  “Are you going to practice straight after?”

“Mmm.”

“Bento box? Or shall I give you lunch money?”

“Uhm…”  His Mum’s lunches were great. He loved them, but she still thought he was five and made him apple bunnies. Money meant he could buy what he wanted, but … _apple bunnies_ … His mouth watered thinking about them, and a smile lifted his heart.

“Hitoshi?”

“Um.”

She sighed. “It’s a simple question, but if you don’t let me know then there won’t be a choice, will there?”

“Oh … right. Uh…” He screwed up his eyes and face, thinking hard and the picture formed in his head of what he could see himself eating. “Have you got salmon?”

“Yes.”

“And apples?”

“We always have apples. Unless you’ve eaten them all,” she said indulgently.

To hell with it. “Bento box would be great.”

The warm spring morning felt hotter after the bike ride, and Ginjima had worked up quite a sweat when he arrived at his grandparents. Because they were away, he parked the bike alongside the house wall, sauntered down the passageway and into their back garden, heading for the tool shed. There wasn’t a great deal to do as his Gramps was conscientious, but he teased out some weeds amongst the  marigolds, checked the vegetable patch for slugs, spread more straw, and ensured the large terracotta pots were watered.

Routine jobs done, he took a glug from his water bottle, wiped his brow before replacing his baseball cap, and then washed his hands under the outside tap. His grandparents’ immediate neighbour had a smaller garden, one with more flowers and structure. Abe-san was a widow, and with no family living nearby, Ginjima’s Gran had only been too happy to push her grandson her way. She was timid, but always welcoming, leaving a glass of juice on the small garden table. Sometimes, when the day was warm, she’d come outside and ask how he was. Small talk and nothing too demanding, and she’d murmur her gratitude when he’d move the heavier items,  press money into his hand—more than he’d expected—and she’d ensure she was there to wave him on his way.

Today she wasn’t in a talkative mood, but smiled when he bowed, and brought out his juice as well as a small cake, telling him she’d been baking. And he could have finished the jobs speedily that day, but he sensed she liked the company, even if they were both silent, so he double checked the flower beds, reinforced the bamboo trellis with some twine, and checked the bitter melon seedlings by the kitchen window.

“I’ve finished now,” he said, when he couldn’t linger any longer.

“Do you think I’ll get a good crop this year?” she asked, joining him by the window,

“Bumper,” he assured her.

“And is this going to be a ‘bumper’ year for you, Hitoshi-chan?” she replied, tilting her head to one side.

“I ho-” He swallowed down the wishful thinking. “Yes, it will be,” he replied with more confidence and smiled.

“You are still playing volleyball?”

He nodded. “My team have some great players and we’re hoping … uh … we’re heading for Nationals.”

“Then I hope we’ll see you on television again.” Her black, berry eyes twinkled. “Your grandparents are so proud of you.”

He flushed a little and couldn’t stop the smile, then took a breath as he wished her a pleasant rest-of-the-week.

He hadn’t lied. They did have great players, and he was playing alongside them, pencilling in his name on a team sheet which listed both of the Miyas, Ojiro Aran and Oomimi Ren. A team building on the success of the previous year, strengthening the foundations with minimal disruption.

 And then, two weeks before at the hurriedly arranged practise match at the university, the new-comer, Akagi Michinari had swapped with Yukimura and played a set.

The victory had been narrow, but the tension after in the changing room expansive.

 

From Abe-san’s house, he biked up the winding road to his last garden of the morning. Kimura-san kept koi carp which took up a good deal of attention. Her garden contained several water features, from a large lily pond, to spiral steps awash with water, round log platforms covered in moss, and tiny flowers poking between the cracks in stone slabs. Passionate about gardening, it had only been recently that she’d required help, and that was down to arthritis in her hip and fading eyesight. Knowing nothing about fish before he’d started helping out, Ginjima was now adept at their care and conscientious about water filtration, feeding and the cleaning of the pond.

She was in the garden when he called out a greeting, standing by the koi pond, and clasping the hand of a young girl.

“This is Ginjima,” she said, and nudged the girl forwards and into a bow. “This is my granddaughter Haruko. She wanted to see the fish.”

She stared up at him, unblinking and mute, yet the grip on her grandmother’s hand lessened.

_Should I say something? Will she cry if I speak to her? Maybe I should back away. Or I could ignore her and just talk to Kimura-san._

Just as he’d decided on the latter course of action, the sound of the telephone pealed towards them and with a rueful smile, Kimura-san made her excuses and left them both in the garden.

And still the girl was staring at him.

So not scared…

“Uh.” He shuffled his feet. “I’ve gotta get on with my work.”

“Are you going to feed them?” she asked, her voice clipped like Akagi’s, the accent more pronounced.

“Um, no, your Grandma usually does that. I need to test the water first.”

“Why?”

“Because it needs to be just right for them.” He began to walk towards Kirimura’s shed.

“Clean?” She peered into the pond. “There’s a lot of green stuff floating around.”

“That’s algae and it’s good for them.” He stopped walking, glancing back at her and seeing him pause, she skipped after him “But too much is bad, so I check the water. Koi are fussy.”

“Mum says I’m fussy,” Haruko declared, and pulled a face. “She made natto for breakfast.”

“And you don’t like it?”

“Not today. I don’t know why she got cross. Michi-nii ate mine so it wasn’t wasted.”

_Michi-nii?_ Oh right, that must be Akagi.

“I know your brother,” he said.

“Do you?”

“Yeah. We play volleyball together.”

“Oh.” She didn’t quite yawn but it was close enough, and while he was rooting around in the shed for the filtration kit, she meandered back to the pond.

“I like that one best.” She pointed to one of the smaller carp, pale blue but with a flash of red underneath.

“That’s an asagi,” he informed her. “Yeah, it’s cool colour, I guess.”

“What about you?”

“Uh… not sure.” He bent down to take a sample of the water, and then checked the filtration unit.

“You don’t have a favourite?”

A larger koi swam past them, coppery brown in colour, larger than most of the others. “That’s a chagoi, I like him.”

“Really? He’s kinda ugly.” She pouted out her bottom lip and mimed the chagoi.

“He’s friendly. Watch when your Grandma feeds them. He’ll eat out of her hand.”

“Oh.”

 She was silent for a while, so he checked the PH of the water, and then deftly fished out some stray leaves and twigs that had blown in overnight.

“Are you a Libero, too?”

“Me?” He looked across at her. “No, I’m a Wing Spiker.”

“Michi-nii is really good. He’s won heaps of stuff.”

“A tournament?” He couldn’t remember mention of a Hokkaido team making its mark at Nationals, but maybe she only meant the Prefecturals.

“No, Best Libero. He’s got a shield in his room.”  She sucked her lower lip. “Actually, he’s got two. One from Junior High and one from his last school.”

“Ah.” He allowed himself time to process the facts. If Akagi’s former teams had never made Nationals, then for him to win, he had to be shit-hot.

“Do you think he’s good?” she asked.

“We’ve only played one match—” he said truthfully.

But Akagi had come on, had been given a trial in a match that had been scrambled together, and despite Yukimura’s scowls and the twins arched eyebrows, he’d smiled and dug himself deep in defence. True this early on they were rough around the edge, but the cogs were turning, each spool searching for the click. Playing alongside Rintarou as often as he did, Ginjima had sensed a lessening of tension and his friend’s positioning sharpened.

She was staring at him again, belligerence in her eyes, wanting an answer, but he could tell she wouldn’t be fobbed off with a platitude.

“He’s very good,” he muttered, then turned away as guilt flushed at his cheeks.

“Who’s very good?”

Of course it was Akagi strolling across to them, that lop-sided smile ever present and eyes wide in a way that could be innocence or could be _affecting_ innocence. Ginjima’s blush deepened, so he ran his hand over his face with a handkerchief to wipe off imaginary sweat, and turned to face him.

“The chagoi,” Haruko replied, with barely a turn of her hair. “Ginjima-san says he takes food from Gran’s hand. I like the asagi best.”

“Chagoi? Asagi? Wow, get you! Did you swallow a Wikipedia page before breakfast? Is that why you weren’t hungry?”

And she fixed him with the scorn ten year old girls appeared to have in droves to aim at their older brothers, and turned back to Ginjima. “Can we feed them now?”

Ginjima stifled a smile, realising that Haruko might be incredibly proud of her brother, but it would be an ice-cold day in hell before she’d tell him to his face.

“Wait for your grandma.”

But holding out a bag, Akagi handed over the fish food. “She’s still on the phone,” he said. “Told me you’d know what to do.” He shrugged. “I’m guessing it’s not as simple as chucking it in the water.”

“Almost.” Ginjima grinned at him, then blinked, wondering if he was being too informal. But Akagi didn’t seem to mind. “It is sprinkled on the surface, but any left after five minutes needs to be fished out.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re greedy as well as fussy and they’ll overeat.”

“Bit like Michi-nii at breakfast.”

“Hey!” He winked at Ginjima. “Good job my sister’s not a koi, she picks and picks at her food.”

Feeling her begin to fume, Ginjima handed her the bag of food, and the reflection cast upon the water, caused a sudden flurry of activity as the koi swam to the surface.

“Where’s the chagoi?”

Ginjima pointed to where it was lurking, closer to the edge of the pond, waiting for its mistress.

“It might not take food from us,” he warned. “There needs to be trust, and he doesn’t know us that well.”

But he grabbed a small handful of the food, crouched by the water’s edge and held out his hand. Haruko was right; the chagoi was an ugly fish, but as the sun glinted off its coppery scales, and its mouth broke the surface of the water to accept the slivers of food from Ginjima’s fingers, happiness flooded his soul.

Ridiculous—the chagoi was hungry that was all.

And yet …

With a squeal, Haruko knelt down, sticking out her hand to entice the chagoi to her, but as her shadow cast across the water, it flicked its tail and shimmied away.

“It’s not as flashy as those others,” Akagi murmured. “But it’s the bedrock, right?”

“Um, yes, I think so. Your grandmother told me it’s her oldest fish, one of the first she owned.”

“Yeah… I remember it from before,” he said, and ruffled Haruko’s hair. “You gonna feed the others?”

She pouted mutinously. “I wanted to feed the chagoi!”

“It doesn’t know you,” Akagi said. “Listen to Ginjima, he knows what he’s talking about.”

“It will get to know you,” Ginjima assured her. “Honestly, he’s never done that before with me, and I’ve been coming here for months now.”

She moped a bit on hearing that, but still appeared to take heart and cast the rest of the food on the water, then pulled out her phone to time down to the last second when she’d need to fish out what was left behind.

And when they’d finished, when she’d shrieked and giggled as Akagi had tried to wrestle the net from her, and Ginjima had come to her rescue, Kimura-san appeared with a tray of juice and a plate of biscuits, setting it on a table for the four of them.

“The water is good, Hitoshi-chan?” she asked, pouring him a glass.

“No problems,” he replied.

“They need everything balanced,” she explained to her grandchildren.  “If something isn’t quite right it throws them out of sorts. Such fusspots, all of them.”

“Ginjima-san fed the chagoi,” Haruko said. “From his hand!”

And her grandma smiled at him. “He trusts you. You understand that now, I hope.”

 

It was a short while later, when Ginjima and Akagi were washing the plates and glasses that Akagi asked him what his Gran had meant.

“Oh… um … I guess it … uh …” the glass rattled in his hand. “When I first started helping out, I really had no idea about the fish at all. I … I didn’t like them, to be honest, and thought they’d be slimy and … kind of pointless, I guess. I mean, why keep fish when all they do is swim and eat, when you could have a dog or a cat?”

“You have a point.”

“Well, yeah, and your Gran knew how I felt, and she didn’t force anything, but she always fed them when I was there, and that chagoi always came up and lapped the water as if he were calling for her, and she’d draw me in, talking about them all the time. But I never gave it a go.”

“Trust is a two way thing,” Akagi muttered.

“Yes, I suppose so. He had to trust me, and I had to trust him, or rather trust that I could do it without startling him. Koi don’t like change, it upsets their equilibrium.”

“Like teams, right?” He sounded wistful.

“Huh?”

“Have I upset the balance arriving in the third year, Ginjima-kun?” he asked, the question light, but his eyes weren’t as wide and he wasn’t grinning.

“I’m not the coach.”

“But you think he was wrong to admit me?”

“N-no, not at all.” He rinsed the glass and handed it over for Akagi to dry. “We’re a team of foxes, not koi, Akagi-san. We need to be shaken up, and then when things settle, we fit.”

_Did I just say that? Jeez, I’m dumb! A team of foxes. Ughh, how clichéd._

But Akagi, although he was laughing didn’t appear to be laughing at him. “Foxes would eat koi if they could get their claws into them.”

“Koi are pretty good at hiding when they have to,” Ginjima replied. “They swim down to the bottom and swirl up the waters so nothing predatory can see them.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s how the chagoi’s lived for so long.” He finished drying the glass, then wiped his hands. “Thank you.”

“Atsumu stirred things up so much when he arrived, one of the third years left before Inter-Highs and a second year Setter walked out,” Ginjima said. “He constantly pushes—but we know he pushes himself the most. Osamu’s the same.”

“Because they’re visible, I guess they have to attack first. Same with you, Ginjima-kun?”

“Me?”

“You have an aggressive style of play. It’s exciting to watch. And quite a contrast.”

He picked up on it immediately, and tried to keep the defensive tone out of his voice. “To the boy who feeds fish and does gardening.”

“Yeah.” Akagi smiled. “Nothing wrong with contrast.”

 

Akagi had biked over, so when Ginjima had finished, he offered to cycle to practice with him. “Although, we’ll be there too early at this rate,” he said, checking the kitchen clock.

“The twins will already be there,” Ginjima replied, smiling wryly. “But I need to do some shopping first.”

“Ah, okay.” Turning away, Akagi’s shoulders had dropped.

“It’s only the sports shop,” Ginjima muttered.

“Which one?”

“There’s a small one off the main street—Rakutan’s? I need some things for training camp.”

“Oh… uh … do you mind if I come along? Only I need some knee pads and that one in the shopping centre was sold out of my size.”

“Um…” He bit his lip, not wanting to sound as if he was unwelcoming, but it could be awkward and—

“Ah, it doesn’t matter I can go another time. I guess it’s awkward with me being the new guy, and all. I’ll see you at practise, Ginjima-kun.”

“It’s not that.” His lip felt raw where he’d chewed, and the taste of copper landed on his tongue. “It’s about Yukimura-san.”

“Ah, a friend of yours, right? You think I’m pushing him out, so you don’t want to—what—associate with me?” His mouth drooped and he sounded weary.

“N-no. It’s …” He heaved in a breath, aware Akagi was focusing on him now, and trying to quell the embarrassment he felt at seemingly being stuck in the middle of something he had no control of. “It’s his parents’ store and we get a discount, which is why we use it.”

“And the guy doesn’t like me.” Akagi shrugged. “I get why that’s awkward for you.”

“I don’t think he dislikes _you,_ exactly, but …um…”

“I’m a threat to his place.”

“Yeah.” He breathed again. “Our last Libero played from his first year, so Yukimura-san hasn’t had a lot of court time and…” He trailed off, knowing he sounded rude, but to Yukimura it did feel as if he’d been waiting in the wings forever and that’s where he was destined to stay.

Akagi waved his hand. “Yup. I get it. But teams aren’t built on sentiment. Inarizaki had a regular Setter before Miya-kun turned up. And you got your chance last year ahead of an older player, right?”

Nodding, Ginjima braved a smile. He remembered the excitement bobbling on his chest when the Coach called him over, and the third year he’d replaced had high-fived him and smiled, but the second years on the side, the ones who hadn’t been called, had looked on with a mixture of envy and regret in their eyes.

Yet when he’d scored, a particularly tight angle after a pinpoint toss from Atsumu, they’d all cheered him, all grievances forgotten, for the sake of the team.

“Anyway, I get what you’re saying,” Akagi continued. “I’ll look for kneepads elsewhere.”

“No, don’t. Come with me, Akagi-san. You’re part of the squad, and the discount’s good.”

 

Rakutan’s, that morning, was busy. As well as Ginjima and Akagi, three of the new first years had arrived, having just discovered the benefits of shopping there. He could see Yukimura’s thick thatch of blond hair as he chatted to them, pointing out the difference between sneakers, not steering them towards the expensive brands, but listening properly to what they wanted. When he saw Ginjima come through the door, he grinned and to his credit, the grin didn’t altogether disappear when he realised who he’d walked in with. He inclined his head to Akagi, excused himself from the first years as they dithered, and made his way over.

“What you after, Gin-kun?”

“Um, socks—the ones for sneakers—but also … uh … maybe kneepads?”

“Kneepads?” Yukimura raised his eyebrows.

He chewed his thumb nail. “Yes. Maybe. Possibly. Not sure.”

“Well, that’s new,” Yukimura muttered. “They’re over there. You can try some on for size. Have you had an injury, or something, Gin-kun?”

“No.”

“Or an injury? Only we have knee supports.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I was just—”

“Am I missing something?” Akagi asked. “What’s the problem with kneepads?”

“You mean you’ve not noticed,” Yukimura mocked.

He shrugged. “I’ve noticed barely anyone wears them, but didn’t know it was an issue.”

“It’s not. It’s really not,” Ginjima muttered.

“Osamu don’t like the feel of ‘em,” Yukimura began. “Suna don’t wear ‘em, prob’ly ‘cuz Ren don’t. Gin, here, took one look at Aran and decided Ace’s never wear knee-pads, and Atsumu…” He snorted. “It’ll be the ‘aesthetic’ or some shit like that. ‘Course, none of those guys do a Libero’s job, so they ain’t as likely to get injured.”

“The captain wears them,” Akagi said.

“Yeah, Shinsuke does everything by the book,” Yukimura replied. Then he stopped whatever he was about to say next, smothering the words with a smile that wreathed his face. “Anyway, kneepads are kind of a departure for you, Gin, amiright?”

“Just wondered, that’s all,” he mumbled.

Yukimura gestured towards the rack, then backed off, summoned by a queue of customers at the counter. And Akagi picked up a pair, stretching out the elastic and pursing his lips as he examined them.

“He’s exaggerating,” Ginjima felt compelled to say.

“Hmm?”

“The kneepad reasons. Suna’s never liked them, and says they affect his jumping. It’s got nothing to do with Oomimi-san. And Atsumu says he can’t do a proper first step when he wears them.” He mimed what he meant, a lunging crouch, knee bent and arms raised as if about to set the ball from the floor. “And it messes up his rhythm when he serves. I think Osamu’s the same, but he also hates their compression. It’s … it’s not them being stupid… it’s …”

“Personal preference. Yeah, I get that. Liberos would be pretty dumb if we didn’t wear them, but then we are the ones digging in or leaping across the floor.”

“I th-think they might help me,” Ginjima continued, aware he was being studied.  “Receives are my weak point—positioning really. But also, you know, wearing them might just remind me not to over jump because I get reckless.”

“This brand is good,” Akagi said simply. “Did you wear them before you came to Inarizaki?”

“Uh, yeah, but then I got in here and no one else was, so …” He knew he looked sheepish. “Bet you think I’m an idiot.”

“Wanting to fit in is part of life, Ginjima-kun.”

“Gin,” he said suddenly.

“Hmm?”

“Everyone calls me Gin, if you’d like to, Akagi-san.”

He smiled, a full smile not his usual side smirk. “Thank you, Gin-kun. I’d like that.”

 

They biked to practice together, arriving a little early, but not earlier than the Miyas, who were already bickering, and Suna who appeared to have jogged over and was now tapping the dry mud out of his trainer grips.

“You look like shit,” Atsumu was telling his brother.

“Prolly ‘cuz I had no sleep as some asshole was coughing all night,” Osamu retorted. “You look shitter.”

“Shit _tier,”_ Atsumu corrected, and gave a sniff. “And it’s hay fever. Frickin’ blossom trees sending their pollen up my nose.”

Osamu snorted. “You never had it before.”

“Does that mean you get it too?” Suna asked.

Osamu gave him a withering stare. “We don’t do everythin’ the same.”

Atsumu interrupted. “Hay fever’s like a genetic thing. You’ll be sneezin’ too. I’m just a bit ahead o’ ya. Rin’s right.” He grinned, pleased with himself. “’Sides, we got chicken pox together.”

“Cuz we caught it at the same time. ‘Tarou knows nothin’.”

“Thanks for that vote of confidence,” Suna replied. “Next time you want to borrow my notes in class, I’ll remember.”

Ginjima raised his eyebrows at the snappish tone, and glanced round at Akagi, to see what he was thinking. But he was crouched by his bike, and whatever his thoughts, he was keeping them to himself, assuming a blank expression.

Osamu grunted something and wiped his hand over his face, flicking his hair off his brow. It might have been an apology, or maybe he’d yawned, but things appeared to settle and when he sat on the steps, waiting for the gym to open, Suna joined him.

“I’ve got anti-histamines, Atsumu-kun,” Akagi offered.

“Uh … nah, I’m good thanks. Already took one.”

“Liar,” Osamu mouthed, earning a glare from his brother.

“Well, let me know,” Akagi continued. “This time of year is rotten for us sufferers. I like winter much better.”

“Where you skiiiiiiiiiii,” Atsumu joked, his accent truly appalling.

Ginjima gulped, wondering if he ever let up, especially when Akagi really was only trying to help.

But Akagi shrugged. “That’s one reason. Also, I was caught out with it starting so much earlier down here. But I guess you’re used to it.”

“Sort of,” Atsumu mumbled, then his mouth opened, he blinked his eyes, twitched his nose and let out the hugest sneeze.

“HANDKERCHIEF, you fuckin’ savage!” Osamu yelled. “We don’t want your germs!”

“You don’t catch hay fever, moron,” Atsumu countered. “Gah, someone give me a tissue, I’m dripping snot here.”

Feeling his stomach tilt a little, Ginjima handed over a crumpled napkin he’d found in his bag. A muttered thanks, and a glower at his brother later, Atsumu pulled out a ball from his kitbag, bouncing it on the grass.

“Anyone want a game while we wait?”

No one moved.

“C’mon.”

“You can serve to me, if you want,” Akagi said at last. “I need to get padded up, though.”

“Liberos are so ickle and delicate, no wonder you only play half a game.” It was an old joke, one Atsumu teased Yukimura with, a joke that Yukimura took in good part as he strapped on his kneepads, and countered with a  retort ‘And for that half, I’m busy  jumping all over the court and wiping your ass, Atsumu-chan.’ 

And Ginjima guessed that Akagi had taken it the wrong way, thinking Atsumu’s words were a dig at him because Yukimura wasn’t around, for he froze mid-search for his new kneepads, and licked his lips.

“I’m guessing you’d rather I made a decent attempt to get them back, rather than flatter you that _everything_ you send over the net’s unstoppable.”

“Ouch!” Suna whispered, and then Ginjima heard the telltale click of his phone, and Osamu snorting.

The silence as Akagi continued to pull on his kneepads was palpable. He didn’t look at Atsumu, but carried on, clearly not expecting whatever he said to upset Atsumu. A mild spat, a quick reprimand, and maybe Akagi, if he was wanting to settle into the team, shouldn’t wind up the star player, but then again, everyone else did so perhaps it was a sign he could slot in with more precision than they’d previously thought.

“Uh, yeah,” Atsumu mumbled. “I need someone decent on the other side of the net.”

A voice broke the current tension. A voice that could often boom, but now sounded cautious, ready to step in if things got heated. “Yo, what’s up, guys?” Aran asked. “Akagi-kun, don’t tell me these morons have roped you into turning up early?”

“Ah, we were waiting for the keys and I was about to receive some of hot-shot’s serves. Or try to. You’ve really been letting those cannonballs fire lately, Atsumu-kun.”

“I’ve got the keys,” Aran replied swinging them between his thumb and forefinger. “Kita’s with the coaches. Might as well go inside and start warming up.”

“Sure.” Akagi’s reply was measured, following Aran inside.

“Touchy git, don’t you think?” Atsumu mumbled as he dawdled.

“Who, you?” Suna sniped. “He’s not Kaage-san. He’s not used to your jibes about Liberos and Middle Blockers taking it easy, so you shouldn’t be surprised if he snaps back.”

“I met his sister today,” Ginjima offered, trying to break the atmosphere with a smile. “She says he’s won Best Libero awards.”

“So?” Atsumu was mutinous, and glanced across at his brother, but Osamu wasn’t mirroring his expression.

“So, he’s good,” Suna replied.

“So’s Kaage-san,” Atsumu said. “He wouldn’t have got in here if he hadn’t been.”

“Well, yeah,” Osamu agreed, and yet didn’t sound quite as certain.

 “But sometimes it’s about the best fit, don’t you think?” Ginjima mumbled.

“And you, ‘Tsumu,” Suna said, “are too busy lookin’ forward to look back.”

“What’s wrong with that?” he protested. “Remember the motto ‘We don’t need memories’, Rin.”

The others went silent, and Ginjima wasn’t sure why, but then he saw a shadow looming towards them, looking far taller than the person who cast it.

“As much as you want to believe in your omnipresence, Atsumu-kun,” Kita-san said, stopping amongst them all, “it is near impossible to win a match entirely on your serve.” He peered closer. “You don’t look good.”

“It’s nuthin’. Hay fever, that’s all,” he replied and turned away. He gestured to the trees. “This time o’ year, it’s always hell for us sufferers.”

“ _Sufferers_? Who else gets hay fever?” Kita asked, scanning them all carefully for evidence. “You should wear a mask if it’s a problem, Atsumu.”

“Yeah, I know. I was caught out,” Atsumu replied, then flashed their Captain his cheeky smile and bounced towards the gym.

Kita’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped over to Suna and Ginjima. “Take these inside,” he murmured, handing over a pile of bibs and a bag of DVDs—probably of their opponents for the Golden Week set of matches.

”Where’s he going?” Suna asked as the three of them watched Kita as he broke into a measured jog. He sounded put out, maybe sensing a missed opportunity.

On hearing Atsumu yell for them, Osamu yawned and made no attempt to move, even as a flurry of first years turned up and dashed into the gym.

“Why’d you turn up with Akagi, Hitoshi?” he asked.

“Met him as his Grandma’s. I look after her fish. Have done for a while now. It was a complete coincidence and then he stayed and by the time I’d finished and had juice and stuff, there was no point in not coming here together, ‘specially as he wanted to go to Rakutan’s and—”

“Breathe,” Suna interrupted, giving him a slow minute smile. “You’re allowed to be friends with him, Gin.”

“D’you—” Osamu began, and then stopped himself.

“What?” Suna jumped in.

“Is he better than Kaage-san, do you think?”

“Uh…” Ginjima swallowed, and caught Suna’s eyes. “Isn’t it a matter of how someone fits—”

But Suna replied with no hesitation. “Yes. He’s better.”

“In what way?” Osamu was bending down, stretching out his hamstrings, even as Aran started to shout for them to come in.

“That set we played against the University team,” Suna replied. “I didn’t have to trust he’d be there, I knew he would be.”

“Huh?”

“Middle Blockers are the first line of defence, right?” Suna replied, speaking hurriedly as Aran appeared in the doorway, scowling at their tardiness.

“So?”

“Yukimura is solid on receives, especially serves,” Suna explained. “But positioning?” He clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Akagi’s _there_. Oomimi-san noticed it too.”

“HEY! GET INSIDE! THIS ISN’T A HOLIDAY CAMP!”

They smiled at Aran, clomped up the steps and sped into the gym.

Atsumu had ripped off his jacket, flinging it in the corner, and was stretching out his arms, glaring at the three of them as they approached. Close up and away from the blurring effects of the sun, he looked awful, his nose red and dark shadows under his eyes. His voice when he spoke, rasped and he was reaching for his water bottle far more than normal.

“Aaatishoooo!”

“Are you sure you’ve got hay fever?” Ginjima asked. “Sounds a lot like a cold?”

“Aaatishoooo!” he exploded. “How would you know the difference?”

 “Just sayin’!” He shrugged off Atsumu’s rudeness, the way he always did. “Maybe be better off resting.”

“No, this is nothing. I wanna play. Too cooped up at home. I’ll die if I have to go back.”

Melodramatic, but Ginjima couldn’t help admire his guts. “Hey, man, ball really is life to you. Yeah, power through.”

“Go home!” Kita’s voice cut through them, like an ice spear.

Atsumu, possibly to cover his embarrassment broke into a coughing fit, then couldn’t control it, as Kita rounded on Ginjima. “Don’t praise someone for not taking care of their health.”

_Jeez, why am I the one getting into trouble?_

He heard Osamu stifle a laugh, and again Suna—still not changed—ominously clicking.

“Kita-san,” Atsumu pleaded. “I’m okay. It’s hay—”

‘”You’re feverish, with dark circles under your eyes and you need to go home. Go to bed.”

“But I’m fine,” Atsumu sniffled, then sneezed again. “I can still toss!”

“You’re already spreading germs to the rest of the team,” Kita reinforced. “Go home and see if you can sleep this off so you’re fit for the camp.” Then he turned back to Ginjima, focusing not just on him, but Osamu and Suna (who’d been edging away so he didn’t get caught in the froideur fallout.)

“Osamu, make sure you take extra care. Gin, you too. Any loss of condition affects you the most.”

_No need to rub it in!_ Just ‘cause he’d had a week off in November with tonsillitis.

Atsumu stomped back to the changing room, and even though more people were starting their warm-ups, they could hear his slam of the door, and the curses as he was forced to quit.

Kita heard the words, and then a yelp, and turned away, greeting the first years with a curt reminder that they should be here promptly.  “Do not stint on stretches,” he warned everyone, beginning his own.

But the practise, despite Atsumu not being there, and despite (or maybe because) Yukimura wasn’t around because his parents were shorthanded in the shop, went well. Osamu sharpened up his setting skills, tossing one of such perfection that Ginjima felt it a privilege to spike, and Suna’s blocks were steadier than ever.

Golden week had always been a time when the new team had come together, Ginjima had experienced this with every team he’d joined, and watching as Akagi pulled off a magnificent receive from one of Aran’s bullet serves, he felt the shift of another gear, the cogs whirring and not sticking.

 

The days were getting warmer, not too warm that they weren’t refreshed by the air when they’d finished, but warm enough to sit outside without their jackets, and finishing the last of their water. And even though Atsumu wasn’t there, it was the type of afternoon where Ginjima could see the year in front of them, and hope bubbled inside of him. And on a sunshine day like this, the earlier reprimand from Kita-san and the unresolved tensions in the team stirred up by Akagi’s arrival, wisped away to almost nothing.

 “What you got?” Osamu asked, spying his bento box. “Gimme something’ ‘fore I die of hunger.”

He was always hungry, and it was something Ginjima’s mum also knew because she’d packed a substantial amount of food and snacks for her son, far more than he’d normally eat if going into school.

Without thinking, Ginjima placed it on the grass between the three of them. “Help yourself.”

_Click._

_Huh?_

“Hitoshi-chan, what are you, five-years-old?” Suna teased, holding aloft the carefully wrapped apple bunny slices. “It’s a widdle wabbit!”

“I… My mum… She ….”

“Who cares?” Osamu muttered, and reaching across for it, he snatched the package out of Suna’s hand and stuffed it in his mouth. “Fooooood! Got any more? Mum’s refused to make us bento boxes anymore. S’all ‘Tsumu’s fault ‘cuz he kept taking what he wanted from mine and swapping with stuff I hated. And I’m never awake in time to make my own.”

He yawned as if to prove the point and Ginjima smiled back at him, nudging the food towards Osamu, but making sure he took some apple for himself. Shrugging, Suna selected a carrot stick crunching it in his mouth and stretched back on the grass, propped up on his elbows.

“He’s texted me about eight times,” Osamu said a short while later.

No one needed to ask who he was.

“And left voicemails. Don’t he realise we can function without him?” And rolling his eyes, Osamu pressed some buttons on the phone then held it to his ear.

“What the heck’s he babbling ‘bout now?”

“Delirious?” Ginjima offered, only half joking because for all they knew ‘Tsumu could have taken a turn for the worse.

In response, Osamu replayed the message, putting the phone on speaker and holding it up to the both of them.

There was a sob, a sneeze and then the rasp of Atsumu’s voice, far thicker than it had been at practise.

“Pickled plums,” he sobbed. “’Samu, he bought me pickled plums!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know more about koi carp and Japanese gardening than I ever thought I would when I started this fic. Hope you're still enjoying it ...
> 
> Next chapter will be called 'What Shall We Do Today' so I don't think you need me to tell you who it features.


	4. What Shall We Do Today?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Golden Week and time for the Inarizaki Training Camp, but Atsumu's stuck at home in bed, fretting over missing even one session.
> 
> And with Atsumu ill, it's a muted affair for Osamu, much as he hates to admit it. So when Suna suggests a game of bingo he agrees, not realising the lengths Suna will go to win. Lengths that include the dangerous pastime of ... Monopoly!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, there's a certain friend of mine who is a stickler for the rules of monopoly, and this is for them.
> 
> OH! And thank you to anyone who answered my twitter bingo card idea.

Miya Atsumu’s aim for his second year at Inarizaki had been to the point:

  * I want to win.



That, he figured, encompassed everything. Of course he couldn’t win without a team, and since last year, when they’d bowed out at the semi finals, he’d spent far more time than he’d admit to anyone (especially not ‘Samu) envisaging his team. He could see it in his mind’s eye, could see them on court, and he had this idea that if his focus would remain true, then he could conduct them right to the apex. Last year he’d known he and ‘Samu had caused a ruckus, that their appearance had disrupted the flow as surely as a stone dropped into a pond would stir up the silt from the bottom.

But it had settled now, and with no more agitation, this was the year Inarizaki’d scorch through to both finals.

And win.

***

 

Atsumu wasn’t sure he’d ever understood the meaning of the word trudge before he was sent home early from practice. On the one hand, he was pissed as hell because who was Kita Shinsuke to tell him how he was feeling and that he shouldn’t be there? But on the other, it was Kita-san, his senpai, who’d not only noticed but had made time to go to the store and buy him food and vitamins—a care kit—just for him. And yes, he desperately wanted to practise, because there was something he wanted to perfect (there always was, Suna once told him) but then again every time he sneezed his nose felt as if it’d explode, and there was a scratchy stab at the back of his throat that he didn’t think was down to needing a drink of water.

One missed practice, an early night and wrapped up in a blanket wouldn’t harm anything, would it?

Besides, he could always lie on the floor and throw a ball in the air to keep his fingers in condition.

But as soon as he got home, his mum’s expression said it all. The surprise that he was back early (daylight hours, indeed) rapidly replaced by concern and the touch of her hands on his flushed cheeks, before she whisked him inside and stuck a thermometer in his mouth.

“It’s over forty, Atsumu!” she near-shrieked.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled and pulled out the package. “Look, Kita-san bought me some vitamins. I’ll take some and have an early night.”

At the mention of Kita’s name, his mum mellowed a little, a soft smile adorning her lips, and she ruffled Atsumu’s hair.  “I’ll make you something to eat first. A proper meal.”

So he stayed at the kitchen table, and half-heartedly tried to respond to her chat as she cooked, and although the food smelled delicious, when she put it in front of him, one bite of the chicken and he felt like his throat had closed.

“’M, sorry,” he mumbled, and pushed the bowl away.

“Have some of the broth,” she soothed, pushing the bowl back to him.

He acquiesced, and the hot broth did help a little, slipping down his throat easily, but it didn’t stop the sniffles, or the shivers that started once he got to his feet.

Ushering him to his bedroom, and promising to bring in a hot lemon drink, he collapsed on his bed and closed his eyes to stop the room from spinning.

“Why me?” he moaned. “Why am I ill? It’s not fair. ‘Samu’s not even sniffling.”

None of them were ill. Akagi might have hay fever, but it was nothing like this. No one in the history of the volleyball team … or Inarizaki High … or Kyougo had ever felt as bad as this. He wouldn’t be surprised if this were his last day upon the earth.

And he’d not even won Nationals yet.

Damn.  He breathed in.

The door opened. He recognised the tread of her steps even if he couldn’t smell the perfume.

“Mum.”

“I’ve brought your drink. What’s the matter?”

“I can’t die yet.”

“Hmm?”

“The team need me.”

“Drink up and get some sleep. I’ll tell your brother not to disturb you.”

Maybe that was why ‘Samu hadn’t texted him before now. He didn’t want to disturb his brother. Except, he’d still be practising so probably hadn’t seen his phone. Practising… he might even be Setter for that afternoon …

Feeling a tingle in his fingertips, Atsumu flexed and mimed a precision pass. Maybe Aran would have spiked it, thundering the ball to paint the line, or Gin would fire it crosscourt, where ‘Samu would receive, or Kita-san dive to the rescue, or Kaage-san …

No, he wasn’t there today.

The new guy, Akagi Michinari, maybe he’d get to the ball and hoof it into the air.

That had been surprising at the park. He’d thought the guy would have more control, even if the ball had been slippery.

Can’t have that happen in a match.

His head hurt, a throb behind his eyes, so he closed them again, and tried to blur the images in his mind, of black shirts leaping, of a ball spinning in the air, the squeak of sneakers, and that soft chuckle of laughter when something had gone right. His laughter.

 **[Samu]** he typed. **[I feel shit]**

Then pulled a face at his phone, waiting for a reply which clearly wasn’t coming.

The lemon drink had cooled now; he supped it quickly grateful his Mum had added some honey then tried to find a cool patch on his pillow so he could sleep.

 

The phone buzzing woke him.  The sun was beginning to fade, and he stretched out, with bleary eyes, to stop the infernal noise.

**_[Save me some plums]_ **

**[That it! That’s all you can say when I’m dying!]**

**_[It’s a cold, moron.]_ **

He wriggled up in bed, trying to ignore the heaviness behind his eyes, to send some snark back to his brother. But his fingers felt heavy, too, his wrists and knuckles ached as if he’d been playing a five set match after a year’s absence.  And his thoughts were too woolly to put into words, so he screwed up his eyes to shield from the glare of the screen, and wondered whether to bother.

 ** _[u okay?]_** Samu messaged after a while.

**[feel shit. Imma sleep. C u l8er]**

It wasn’t much later, an hour if that, Atsumu calculated, when he heard the front door and Osamu trooping into the house. Making far too much noise for his throbbing head and ears hurting with hyper-sensitivity.

The door creaked open. “Hey.”

Flapping his hand but not opening his eyes, Atsumu mumbled a reply.

“Mum says you’re _actually_ ill.”

“Cold, that’s all. Night’s sleep and I’m good.”

“She … uh …” Samu stepped into the room, and unusually for him, crept quietly and didn’t turn the light on. “Says you’ve got a temperature,” he said, sounding muffled.

“Uh-huh. S’cool though. Couple o’ paracetemol ‘n I’ll be fine.” He peered through the grey gloom, not altogether surprised to see his brother wearing a mask as he pulled open his side of the wardrobe. “What you doing?”

“Mum suggested I sleep in the lounge, but ‘Tarou said I c’n stay there tonight.”

“Deserting me?”

“Lettin’ you rest.” Osamu twisted around, facing him for the first time since he’d got back. “You look worse, ‘Tsumu. Sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Huh?” He shook his head, then stopped ‘cause it hurt too much. “Not like we’re telepathic.”

Samu nodded, looking sorrowful, then after stuffing a few things in a bag, he raised his hand. “I’ll come by tomorrow.”

“Yeah, we can arrive together.”

“Uh…sure.”

“Samu,” he rasped. “I ain’t missin’ Golden Week training ‘cause of a sniffle.”

 

At midnight, he thought he’d still make it. Six hours sleep and he could throw off whatever bug it was, even if his throat was rasping now and more swollen than before.

At three-fifteen, he knew he was doomed. Crawling across the floor to the bathroom to splash water on his face, and then shivering in the corner as the hot flush left, Atsumu didn’t think he’d ever felt more ill in his life. And again, it was so unfair. Not that he’d wish this on anyone (‘cept maybe that red-haired, Middle Blocker from Shiratorizawa that they’d run into at Spring High—he’d been a git. Or Sakusa who was such a worrywart it’d serve him right) but it _was_ unfair that this had landed on him, just before he was due to go on an intensive training course. With sessions throughout the day, and a series of matches, there was no better time to test the fitness of the squad; the scramble for places truly began during Golden Week.

He leant his head against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall, hoping to feel some relief, but the pictures running through his head didn’t soothe at all. He was on the court, but his legs wouldn’t move, stuck as if in glue, or weighed down with anvils, and instead of him tossing the ball it was a new kid—not even ‘Samu—but someone unknown, a face in shadow, and the pinpoint precision as he floated the ball through the air to a succession of gasps and hushed awe.

I’m bein’ dumb, he tried to tell himself, ‘cuz there was no one of his class in the squad. Not even ‘Samu. Not as a Setter, anyway.

The bathroom door opened, a glare of light flooding the ground in front of him. “Atsumu-chan, what are you doing in here?”

“Dad,” he groaned. “I don’t feel too good.”

Strong arms hauled him to his feet, and although he was, at sixteen, half a head taller than his dad, Atsumu flopped his head on his shoulder and allowed his father to take him back into his room.

“I’ll fetch you some water,” he muttered. “Try to sleep, okay?”

“’M I going to be better for camp?”

His dad sat on the side of his bed, pushed Atsumu’s hair from his brow, and stared down at him. “Maybe sit this one out, eh? Stay home with us.”

 

His mum stuck the thermometer back in his mouth when he woke at seven. “When you were little, you wouldn’t let me do this,” she said. “You hated the one I used in your ear, too, as well as the strip I could put on your forehead.” She smiled at him. “You’d wriggle and wriggle and protest so much that I could never tell if it was making you worse, so I had to think of something else.”

The thermometer beeped, so she removed it and walked to the window to examine under the light.

“Am I okay?” he asked, but knew before she shook her head that he wasn’t going anywhere today.

“Forty one,” she told him. “You’ve got flu. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” He tried to swallow down the sob but it lodged in his throat and there was nothing he could do to stop the throb of tears welling in his eyes. “I gotta stay here, right.”

“It’s for the best,” she whispered, sitting back on his bed. “You wouldn’t be able to do anything, anyway.”

He sniffed and lay back under his covers, snuggling himself against the sudden chill that had hit him.

“I’ll get you some juice and more tablets.”

“Mum?”

“Mmm.” She was getting up from his bed, but stopped.

“How did you take my temperature when I was a kid?”

“Ah. I remembered something your Granny used to do.” Leaning over him, she gently pecked her lips to his forehead. He squirmed a little at the contact. She laughed softly, and then flattened her palm on his brow. “Lips are body temperature, so more reliable than a hand. And back then, you never minded kisses and cuddles from Mummy.”

Osamu returned a short while later, popping his head through the door and looking uncharacteristically concerned, so concerned that Atsumu wondered if everyone had been lying to him and he was actually at Death’s Door. But would ‘Samu really have trotted off to training camp if he’d been dying.

Toss up.

Maybe.

“Hey,” he rasped.

“Hey yourself. Mum said you were sleeping.”

“I am. Sort of.” He chewed his lip. “The new kids…”

“What about them?”

“Any decent Setters?”

“Yeah a ton of ‘em,” Osamu snorted. “Whole crop waitin’ to jump in.”

He must have coughed or sobbed or let out some involuntary sound, or maybe his expression changed because his brother stopped what he was doing (packing his holdall and fishing around for tee shirts) and stared at him.

“They don’t stand a chance.” He stepped a little closer, then pulled his mask off. “You’re not really worried, are you?”

He tried to shrug but it hurt his shoulders too much. “Kid with black hair, pointy fringe and a scowl. Can’t remember his name.  Is he any good?”

Osamu’s brow furrowed. “Don’t know who you mean. There’s a blond kid—he’s decent, but not like you.”

“He’s got blue eyes and –” He stopped talking trying to recall the picture in his head from last night, but it wisped away as soon as he concentrated.

“Can’t think of him.” He continued to pack, shoving a shirt that looked suspiciously like Atsumu’s new one in his bag, zipped it up, and then replaced his mask. “Uh …”

“What?”

“I’m sorry you’re not … uh …‘Tarou says ‘hi’, by the way.”

“Maybe I can make it for the end of the week,” Atsumu replied. But he wasn’t hopeful and ‘Samu’s smile was far too _kind_. “You’ll text me, right?”

“When I can. You know Kurosu-san hates us using phones.”

“Never stopped Rin before.”

“Yeah, he’s sneakier than us, though. I’ll do it in the evening, ‘kay?”

“Sure.” He was tired now, not wanting to hear the rest because even though ‘Samu was speaking quietly, Atsumu’s ears throbbed with hypersensitivity. Sticking his hand out of the blanket, he waved goodbye and closed his eyes. “Don’t slack off without me, ya hear?”

‘As if’, he thought he heard Osamu mutter, and then he was gone, closing the door behind him with half a slam and then an apology as he thundered away. Atsumu could hear another voice downstairs, Suna’s probably, and another, talking fast, eager and that he knew had to be Gin. Maybe they’d all stayed at Suna’s overnight, and this was the last stopover before they headed off to Training Camp.

His throat was scratchy, so he glugged down some more juice, then tried to settle back into sleep. If he was going to stand any chance of catching camp at the end of the week, then he had to clear his head, and vanquish the virus.

Well, that was his plan, but as soon as he closed his eyes, something would force them open again. Either there was a lump in his pillow, or a voice would creep up the stairs, a refrain of music, or a clomp of steps coming towards him. And it didn’t help that his eyes felt like someone was rubbing them with sandpaper despite the pain killers.

“Atsumu?”

His dad was there.

“Mmm?”

“Breakfast.”

“Huh?” He peeked at him, surprised to see him holding a tray. “Why are you here and not at work?”

“I have the week off.”

“To take care of me?”

His dad’s lips twitched. “Not exactly. I was going to go away with your mother, just the two of us, while the pair of you were training.”

“Ah. Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It can’t be helped. And we were only visiting friends. Sit up, and you can have this on your lap.”

He tried, but it was a struggle, the sigh ingrained before he’d even got halfway up his pillow, and he could feel his head spin. “Not that hungry,” he said apologetically.

“Juice and eggs. Especially soft for your throat. Try some of it at least.” He hovered with the tray, smiling down at his son. “I could feed you. I was a dab hand at that when you were a baby.”

“Were you?”

“Oh yes. No one except me could get you to eat green peppers. There was your brother, he’d eat anything in front of him, but you spent more time smearing whatever mush you had in your hands over your face.”  Carefully he sat on the edge of the bed, placing the tray between them and lifted the bowl in his hands. “Here comes the choo-choo train, Atsumu-chan,” he chimed.

Swallowing some of the egg as his dad dropped it into his mouth, he winced as it scraped his throat. But the food was good, the eggs lightly salted, and he managed to take another two mouthfuls before shying away.

“I’ll leave the juice,” his dad said, understanding.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into his pillow.

“What for?”

“Messin’ up your week off.”

“Hardly your fault you’ve got flu, Atsumu,” his dad replied and closed the door behind him.

But maybe it was. Kita-san had warned him—warned them all—about taking proper care of themselves, had told them time and time again how important it was to take care of their bodies, to not overdo anything, to eat properly, not train too hard, to get the right amount of sleep and…

Yeah, that one was down to me.

But he’d always known better, the words not even going in one ear before he’d begun a lap of the field, racing his brother for dominance. He was Miya Atsumu and he knew his path.  

He’d always pushed and pushed and pushed, eating lunch on the run so he could practise more, carrying on when the gym had closed, in all weathers, when even Osamu had stomped back inside.

So maybe it was his fault he felt as weak as a kitten now. Or as a fox cub outside in the elements without a parent or littermates to cuff him back into line.

The pain relief set in, dissipating the worst of his fever and settling his head to a faint throb. But as he stretched out his hands, reaching under the bed for his ball, his shoulders felt like lead. He flopped backwards, closed his eyes and decided sleep would be a better option.

Blond kid. Setter. Who? Heisuke or something? No that was the Wing Spiker.

Would Setter-kun be setting now?  Was his toss accurate?  Atsumu opened his eyes and scrabbled for his phone. Eight thirty, they wouldn’t even be there yet. And most likely ‘Samu would toss. Be good to keep him sharp, ‘cuz sometimes the opposing team sent a serve his way to keep him out of action. And sometimes it was good to mix things up, and for _him_ to feel the sweet sensation of a successful spike.

Sleep.

You can’t do nothing here. You might as well switch off for a while. Take Kita-san’s advice and take care of yourself.  Maybe have a pickled plum. Later.

Sleep would make everything better. And he could join them at camp. Missing one day was nothing.

But sleep was fitful, a few minutes at most before he moved and found his back stiff and his limbs aching. Worse than that, his head began to burn but every time he threw the blanket off his body the shivers would hit. He heard his mum tap once or twice and a soft question asking if he were awake, but he couldn’t find the words to croak a reply.

Shadows fluttered through his curtain, the cherry trees in their garden shaking their branches in the gentle spring breeze, and still he tried to sleep, even when a bird began a loud caw caw caw from his window sill.

“Fricking crow. Shut up.” He groaned and wondered if it was too early for more pain killers.

***

Osamu hadn’t written a year’s aim in his journal. He’d thought about it, but couldn’t quite find the words, or at least he couldn’t phrase them in a way that his sensei would read correctly.

 _I want to be satisfied was a lazy aim,_ they’d told him the year before, but it was all Osamu had, and only he knew the hunger inside of him, that was barely sated before it gnawed again at his insides. So he’d left the page blank and shrugged when ‘Tsumu pointed to the empty space.

 

For the first half an hour, everyone kept looking at him. Not a constant staring contest, but when he peeked through his fringe, Osamu would invariably find someone glancing his way, then hurriedly averting her eyes when they realised he’d cottoned on. Not Kita. Kita met his gaze, nodded and _then_ looked away. And not Suna, either, but then he was dozing alongside him on the back seat of the coach. But everyone else was, and it was starting to annoy him. It was as if they expected him to crack, or were waiting for him disintegrate as they watched. Unsure, perhaps, how he could exist without the other.

“Screw them,” he muttered.

“Hmm?” On his other side, Gin perked up. “What was that, Osamu?”

“Everyone’s staring at me. It’s like they can’t believe I’m here. Guess they’re expecting me to dissolve or whatever without him.”

“Really?” Gin poked his head above the seats, perused the faces in front of them, now assiduously turned away, and then slumped back on his seat. “I think you’re imagining it.”

“I’m not,” he said darkly. “I can’t go anywhere with him without people staring, and now they’re still checking up on me.”

“Maybe they’re surprised you’re quiet,” Gin offered.

“I am quiet,” he replied, stung.

Suna snorted, or maybe he snored because he didn’t open his eyes.

“I’m quie _ter_ ,” Osamu conceded.

“The first years aren’t used to trips, yet,” Gin said. “The one to the university barely counts, so for all they know you’re as noisy as … uh …”

“Tsumu, yeah, I know.” He stretched out his legs, and glared when the movement caused yet another first year to dart a look his way, shoulders tense as if waiting for—

“Hey, I’m not gonna explode,” he said, slightly raising his voice. “YET!”

The coach went quiet, the rustling and shuffling of feet stopping as the others caught the drift of his words.

“Do you need a toilet break?” Kita called from the front.

“Huh? No!”

Suna’s shoulders were shaking. “He thinks you’re a poop factory, ‘Samu.”

“Hey, stop laughing,” Osamu said and jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow.

“Well, stop whining then. I want to sleep.”

“I don’t whine.”

“If you say so.”

“They’re looking at me.”

“Who?”

“Everyone on the bus,” Osamu explained. “It’s like they’re waiting for me to _do_ something.”

“They’re not used to the silence,” Gin explained. “Last week, you and Atsumu started by throwing socks at each other on the coach, then when your pair went out the window, it ended up with Aran-san breaking you apart before you stepped into the gym.”

“But he’s not here.”

Sighing, Suna straightened up and at last opened his eyes. Then he snorted, and flopped back again. “You’re still wearing your mask, ‘Samu. That’s why. They already think Atsumu must have the plague to be missing training, so must assume you’re next.”

“Oh …” He hurrumphed and settled back on his seat, and following Suna’s example he closed his eyes. “Tell ‘em only cookies’ll cure me.”

 

Practice for that first day was peculiarly drama-free. There was a lightness, even if the first years were nervous at their first camp as Inarizaki squad members, everyone’s eyes were wide and not narrowed with suspicion.

(Apart from Oomimi, but then his always were, Osamu thought. And he pondered whether his senpai naturally suspected everyone, or whether because everyone said he looked that way, he’d become that person.

Which, when he thought more, was quite like him, and everyone’s assumption that he was ‘Tsumu’s carbon copy—not even the real version—lagging behind by a millimetre at all times.

 _When did I become the copy?_ )

“What was that?” Kita asked.

“Oh … uh … nuthin’. Thinkin’ aloud,” he muttered.

He could feel Kita’s attention still on him, even as he turned to a first year to instruct him where to place the bibs.

The plan for the first day had been to arrive, have a run outside, then lunch before a more dedicated volleyball session in the afternoon. The coaches would switch the sides around, testing the new players, but also keeping an eye on the more established ones.

No one, as Aran said, was entitled to a place. And watching as his senpai stripped off his tracksuit bottoms and stretched ahead of the run, Osamu breathed deeply.  Aran was touching his knee, flexing it out as if still cramped from the journey, and all at once, Osamu wondered if there was a problem. If the Ace’s ‘condition’ was more of an issue than anyone let on.

“You okay?”

It was Gin at his side, tapping him lightly on the arm, smile tentative but already prepared for the morning ahead.

“Sure.” He peered out the window, noticing the gloomy clouds. “Think it’ll rain?”

“Could do.” Gin licked his lips. “Uh, want to run with me and Rintarou?”

The clouds were definitely darker in the distance, and he wondered about keeping his jacket on.  Next to him Gin fidgeted. “Sorry, what was that?”

“You usually run with Atsumu, so … uh … want to run with us?”

What was this? Pity?

“Not if he’s charging off. We’re not keeping up with your crazy pace,” Suna interrupted, slinking between them. He sighed as he contemplated the weather. “No chance of skipping this one, I guess? It’s spitting already.”

Atsumu would’ve already charged out there, probably wearing Osamu’s jacket, and he noticed Kita looking their way, no doubt expecting him to head off first, so he nodded. “C’mon, lets’ get going. And ‘Tarou?”

“Yeah?”

“Try t’ keep up.”

“I’m not sprinting this,” Suna protested. “Gentle jog, that’s all.”

Gin’s mouth was twitching. “Could get back before the downpour … if we _really_ run,” he replied, and laughed.

But at the door, Coach Kurosu scowled as they jostled past. “Keep to the track. It’s slippery, and I don’t want any of you stumbling. Not on the first day.” And he mumbled something else, something Osamu didn’t quite catch but it sounded like ‘Miya’. “And remember you’re not dogs, so no rolling around in the mud!”

Suna was biting his lip not to laugh, then whispered, “That’s one square crossed out.”

“Huh?”

“Golden Week bingo,” Suna explained under his breath. “Somethin’ I thought up to help pass the time between the four … uh …. three of us.  Kurosu mentioning dogs was one of them.”

“Enthusiastic as ever,” Gin sighed.

“Just not _delighting_ in training runs. Get me on court, get me practising my blocks, or playing matches and I—” he stopped to yawn, smothering it in his sleeve “—I’m there, but in this weather it’s tiresome.”

But for all his reluctance, he joined both Osamu and Gin at the front and even kicked up his heels when Osamu complained their pace was too slow.

“Don’t you like being able to take it easy for a change?” Suna asked, shooting him a glance,

“Why would I?”

“It doesn’t have to be a competition,” Gin replied.

He scowled at them as he sped up. “What makes you think I’m gonna slack off, just ‘cuz he’s not here?”

He ran up front alone for a while, a burst of speed and not slowing when the burn began in his calves. It wasn’t cold, and this rain was nothing, this was easier than he’d thought it would be and he liked the alone time without Ginjima’s chatter, Suna’s cynicism and _his_ constant attempts to get in front, to never let up with the wisecracks and the yells and the indignation if ‘Samu ever beat him to the line.

“Hey, don’t sulk,” Suna chided, running up on his left side.

“Your face looks as if it could sour milk,” Gin said.

“Milk? That’s the sort of thing my Granny says,” Osamu said, and despite wanting to stay annoyed, he couldn’t repress a snort. “Thought you hated this sort of thing, ‘Tarou.”

“Meh, it’s gonna piss down. Might as well get it over with. “ And he offered one of his smiles. “Besides, I’m faster than you!”

“Oh yeah…” He put on another spurt, laughing. “Come on, then, what you waiting for?”

He increased the length of his stride, glorying in the space between him and the pair behind him. It was fun, even as they snapped at his heels. No pressure, just pure joy, even as they bustled up to him, neither wanting to give ground.

In the final sprint, as the rain pelted the ground and they could barely see across the track, Osamu splashed through a puddle and raised his arms to prevent a misstep. The action caused Suna to swerve and it was Gin, his head down and arms pumping like pistons, who scorched ahead to the makeshift finish line.

“Jeez, he is fast!” Osamu rasped. “Did he down twenty energy drinks this morning?”

“He always has been,” Suna replied, not yet dropping back.

“So why’ve the pair of you never taken me ‘n ‘Tsumu on?” he asked as he charged for the line.

“Because,” Suna wheezed, crossing the finish a hair’s breadth behind. “It was more fun betting which one of you would finish first. Or,” he added, “whether you’d trip each other up.”

“So… which one of us won the most?”

“Can’t remember,” Gin replied quickly, too quickly.

“No idea,” Suna said, shaking his head.

Osamu didn’t mind the lie. Atsumu was ahead—just—but knowing Gin and Suna were sugaring that particular pill really didn’t matter.

“Come inside and grab towels!” Kurosu yelled. “Don’t you dare drip on the gym floor, and stop shaking your head, Osamu, you’re not a dog!”

 “That bingo game,” Osamu whispered. “I’m in.”

 

It was over lunch when Suna produced the card template from his phone. “So, if we’re playing this, then we need three different cards, but with some things the same. Like …” He pointed to the top right corner. “There’s Kurosu’s dog talk.”

“’Osamu food metaphor’?”  Osamu read. “Huh?”

“Good one,” Gin chuckled.

“Sorry… what?” Osamu persisted.

“Or simile,” Suna corrected. “Remember that sun is as yellow as the egg my mum poached for breakfast.”

“And who can forget the onigiri cat.”

“K, I get it!” Osamu snapped, throwing a napkin at Suna. “’Atsumu and Osamu get into a fight, Atsumu uses first plaster, Osamu catcalls when Atsumu’s in the middle of a serve’ … Hey!”

“Yeah, see, that’s the problem,” Suna jumped in. “Atsumu being ill means we need to rewrite a lot of these.”

“Change ’Atsumu getting roasted by Kita-san’ to Gin,” Osamu said.

“Why me?”

“It’s already there,” Suna replied. “Just worded different.”

“Then we need some for you!” Gin protested.

“True, ‘Toshi’s got a point,” Osamu drawled. He scooped more rice into his mouth, taking some time to think as he chewed. “Suna takes a pho- naw that’s too easy. Suna gets gets yelled at for taking a photo.”

“Suna gets roasted for having his phone out,” Gin continued.

“Suna smiles during a game.”

“Won’t happen.”

“True. How about Suna sleeps in?”

“Suna complains about outside activities.”

“Suna’s serve goes over the net.”

“Suna beats both your asses in ace serves for the week!”

“Nah, impossible,” Osamu replied. He licked his lips. “I’m going up for seconds.”

“What’s the middle square?”

Osamu stopped moving. “Oooh, yeah, what ya got there?”

Suna’s lips twitched. It was the closest he got to a smile.  “It’s a challenge, but it’s like one of my goals for the year.”

“Which is?”

“I want a picture of Kita-san losing it.”

“What, like roasting someone?” Osamu shrugged. “That’s kinda lame.”

“No, I mean like cooing over kitten, or a bird. I call it being un-Kita-sanly. Maybe he gets really angry, that would count. Or have him cry like he did when he got the Captaincy. Just something … illogical, you know!”

Osamu stared down at him. “You’re one messed up dude, Suna Rintarou.”

“You still in?”

“Oh yeah! And let’s raise the stakes. When I win, you can buy me puddin’ for a month.”

“OH! Yes, meat wrapped fries for a month,” Gin said and grinned. “Gah, this is gonna be so gooood.”

“You’ll be the ones buying Chuupet for me,” Suna said and leant back in his chair. “Get me a banana, would ya, Osamu?”

“But …” Gin’s sudden interjection halted the journey for more food once again.

“What now?”

“I don’t think anyone—” He deliberately didn’t look at Suna. “—should manipulate the results, just to fill in the card.”

Suna’s eyes narrowed but he gave a swift nod. “So, I keep my litter of cute kitties away from camp.”

“Uh-huh, and no one starts dog conversations near Kurosu-san.”

“And,” Osamu paused. “I guess we really shouldn’t bait Kita.”

“What about Oojiro-san?” Gin asked, a touch nervous.

“It don’t take much to set him off,” Osamu muttered. “So it’s not _really_ manipulation.”

“Aran-san losing his shit isn’t even on the card,” Suna replied. “Having said that as Atsumu’s not here …” He began to type on one of the blank squares. “I’m adding it back in.”

 

Practise went well, the sort of day when Osamu spikes found their way home on the right side of the line and he felt as if he had springs in his heels. He slammed past Oomimi-san’s block as if it were made of feathers, and stumped Kaage with a serve. On his side, Suna, too, was in good shape, his range increasing, as he sharpened up and sent a ball cross court. The only niggle was Gin’s form, which was stolid but showed a definite dip. He was hitting the side of his head at a block he’d failed to pull off, and having his ass wiped by Akagi didn’t lighten his mood.

Akagi-san, however, was having another good game, and alongside Kita, the defensive capabilities of their team were vastly superior to Aran’s, even if they did have an actual setter and not Osamu filling in.

“Gin, calm down!” Kita directed in a time out, after another failed spike had rebounded, saved only by Akagi’s dive to scoop the ball to Osamu. “Your timing is off because you’re rushing. What do you hope to achieve at this camp?”

 _Same as the rest of us,_ Osamu thought as he glanced at Gin’s dejected yet determined face. _To stand on court._

Allowed his phone after dinner, Osamu flicked onto messages, somewhat disconcerted to see one from his Mum checking he’d arrived okay, but nothing from Atsumu. But as he stared, the screen flickered into life.

**[Miss me?]**

**_[Nope]_ **

**[Jeez, can’t you be a bit more considerate of my feelings]**

**_[Chill, scrub. How you doing?]_ **

  **[Feel worse. Think I’m dying.]**

“Atsumu?” Gin asked, and receiving a nod, added. “Say Hi from me.”

**_[Gin says Hi.]_ **

**[Tell him Hi back and thank Rin for the snapchat message]**

**_[He snapchatted you?]_ **

**[Yeah, telling me about the Bingo. I told him to add Kita and Oomimi sipping tea in a corner of the room]**

At that Osamu snorted, because just at that moment, Oomimi walked in holding a tray with a teapot, a milk jug and two mugs which he placed on a small table just to the side of Kita’s chair.

**_[Kita-san is literally pouring their tea now.]_ **

**[That pair are so married.]**

**_[Yeah]_ **

It went quiet for a while. Suna sat back with them, bringing three glasses and a jug of iced water. Outside it was raining again, the sound hammering at their window, but in the lounge with the team sat in groups, some playing cards, some reading, some chatting amongst themselves, it was like being wrapped in a warm quilt.

**[So, who’s playing setter?]**

Oh …

He sighed and straightened up, his foot clunking against Gin’s  who then shouldered Suna,  upsetting the equilibrium.  **_[I did for practise]_** he typed back. **_[And one of the first years had a go]_**

**[Got a game tomorrow, haven’t you?]**

**_[Yeah.]_ **

**[you playing?]**

**_[Yeah]_** They’d had the teamsheet already. All three of them were there, just like the last game of last year.

**[Are you Setter?]**

What did ‘Tsumu want to hear? That he was standing in as Setter? Would that be better for him because he knew they could slide back into place when he was well?

**[They’ve picked someone else, haven’t they?]**

**_[Yeah, first year’s got the slot.]_ **

**[ah right.]**

Gin nudged him. “Is he okay? You look worried.”

He showed the pair of them the message. Gin sighed, but Suna rolled his eyes.

“He must know no one can touch him.”

“Yeah… it’s just … he’s ill. Kept gabbin’ on ‘bout some black haired kid ‘fore I left.”

**[Jeez, Kita-san’s just messaged me, telling me I need to sleep.]**

And sure enough, Kita was putting his phone on the table, a small concerned frown creasing his brow. **_[Haaaaa – he’s keeping tabs on you, Tsumu.]_**

**[Must want me back. Don’t lose tomorrow, scrub, or I’m not letting you back in this room.]**

Which he guessed was ‘Tsumu’s way of wishing him luck.

**_[Cheers, scrub.]_ **

**[And don’t lose that bingo either. Honour of the Miyas is at stake!]**

***

They won the match the next day, quite easily as it turned out, the opposing school not a likely threat to their Powerhouse status. But in the second set, Kurosu had switched things up a bit, playing Osamu as Setter, and bringing on Kosaku for a game. Gin sat out for a while, downcast but determined, until coming back on for Aran.

Akagi started.

And wasn’t subbed out.

Playing in the rearguard alongside him, Osamu finally realised what Suna had been not so subtley telling him. Akagi’s reactions were better that Yukimura’s—only fractionally—but it was his positioning and the fact he could adapt easily, utilising his entire body that made him a complete player. And yes, it was early in the season, but it was the time when the Coaches started the decision making, forming the team and squad which would take them to Nationals.

It was as Kita was escorting the opposing team to their bus, his jacket draped across his shoulders, and flaring out as the breeze tilted towards him, that Suna gave a ghost of a smile.

“What’s up with you?” Osamu asked, joining him by the window.

“Watch Aran-san.”

“Huh?”

Aran was standing a little behind Kita, and despite the distance, Osamu could see his senpai’s fingers clenching and unclenching.

“Go on...” Suna cooed. “You know how much it irritates you…”

And as he peered closer, his mouth murmuring the incantation, his nose near to touching the glass, Aran stretched out his hand and tugged at Kita’s jacket hem.

“Yessss!” Suna hissed as the jacket slipped to the ground. He pulled out his phone, still smiling. “One more.”

“What?”

“I had ‘Aran gets pissed at Kita’s jacket/cloak’ One more, Miya Osamu, and that’s Bingo!”

“Whaaaaaat?”

“Oh yes. Centre square, Kita-san doing something un Kita-sanly, and I win.” He held his phone up, flicking to camera and focused in. “It could happen now, you know. Must be pretty annoyed with Aran-san for doing that. He _could_ crack.”

 They both held their breath. But Kita merely stared at the jacket on the ground, flicked his gaze to Aran, and didn’t move. It was Aran who bent down, picking up the jacket, and dusting it off before placing it over Kita’s shoulders and moving a step away.

“It ain’t over yet,” Osamu breathed.

But he saw the glimmer in Suna’s eyes and knew it could be over very soon, and unless he and Gin were very careful, they’d be shelling out for chuupet for the next month.

 

**_[We won]_ **

**[Ah, cool. How was the new kid?]**

**_[I was Setter in second set]_ **

In his mind’s eye, he could see ‘Tsumu’s smile and hear that soft chuckle.

“What’s got you laughing, Osamu-kun?” Kita asked, kneeling on the floor next to him.

“Me?” He blinked. “Oh, nuthin’ Kita-san, I’m texting ‘Tsumu, that’s all.”

“Tell him to rest.”

“He is.”

“He needs to rest not just his body but that volleyball brain of his.”

 

Suna was clearly out to win the bingo and taking it far more seriously than Osamu had ever seen him take anything, outside of volleyball. Certainly if their sensei had seen how much time he devoted to the game, he’d have despaired that not a fraction of this could be harvested for lessons, Over the evening meal, he began by taking his phone out and passing it around the table to show some pictures.

“I didn’t know you had a puppy,” Gin said.

“It’s my neighbours. Cute, right? Don’t you think so, Kita-san?”

“Most baby animals are,” Kita replied. “It’s the large eyes, I suppose. In the wild, it’s more likely to keep them safe, perhaps, ensure the parents want to protect it.” He sipped at his udon. “Shouldn’t have your phone out at the table, Suna-kun. Please put it away.”

“Nice try,” Osamu hissed. “And that’s from Instagram, you just edited it.”

But Suna’s glimmer of a smirk was wiped off his face when Gin let out a gasp and opened his eyes wide. They both followed his gaze, and Osamu caught his breath too because at the end of the table, Yukimura had shuffled opposite Akagi and was now glaring across the table. And it would have been intense—the staring contest psyche-out he was clearly trying—but Akagi was nibbling on a cube of cheese and was clearly enjoying the experience.

Aran had closed his eyes.

“He’s expecting the worst,” Gin whispered. “We should do something. Distract Yukimura-san, maybe?”

“No…. not yet,” Osamu replied softly. “Just wait a little—”

“Hey, Akagi-san,” Suna called out. “Could you pass us the cheese up here, please?”

“Huh? Oh. Sure…” Akagi stopped nibbling, got up from his seat and picking up the cheese he strolled down the length of the table. And out of the corner of his eye, Osamu say Aran’s shoulders relax and Kita turn to give Yukimura one of his reproachful ‘looks’.

“You did that deliberately,” Osamu muttered.

“You’ve got ‘Aran-san closes his eyes and counts to ten’, haven’t you?” Suna replied, the smile back on his lips. Then he pushed out the chair next to Gin with his foot. “Want to join us, Akagi-san?”

“I guess that’s the best way to share this cheese,” Akagi agreed and sat down. “I’m more of a plastic cheese string fan myself, but this is good too.”

They munched companionably for a while, and then Akagi, swallowing down a last cube helped himself to water. “So, what do you guys generally do in the evenings? Cards, TV, reading?” He grinned. “Deep and meaningful chats in the dorm.”

“Cards, sometimes,” Gin replied promptly. “Last night I was too bushed from the journey, so played on my phone for a while.”

“Games are good,” Suna interrupted, and turned his face to stare directly at Akagi. “We were just saying we might play something tonight. Like …. Mmmm, what do you say to a game of Monopoly?”

_You crafty  git!_

“Ooooh, I like Monopoly. Can I play with you guys, or is it just a second year thing?”

He sounded hopeful, and as much as Osamu knew Suna was only suggesting this for the sake of his free chuupet, the word no wouldn’t make its way past his teeth.

Besides, if Aran watched them, then there’d be plenty of opportunities watching him attempt to control his temper even if L’il-shit-Tsumu wasn’t there. He’d just have to make sure Kita didn’t lose it before then …

“Yes, of course,” Gin interrupted, sounding hurried. “I’ll get the board now.”

“Huh?”

“We should wait a while,” Suna was saying, dragging out his words.

Osamu, recognising the gleam in Suna’s eyes as one of a schemer, had his attention caught by Kita getting to his feet, a clipboard and notebook in his hand readying himself for his meeting with the coaches.  Slipping his tongue between his teeth, Osamu gave a soft snort.  “Hey, might as well play now, right, Gin-kun?”

“I want to finish my drink,” Suna replied.

“Nah, I won’t be in the mood then,” Osamu insisted. “Akagi-san, you in?”

“Oh yeah, shall we get the others?” Finishing the last piece of cheese, he got to his feet.

“No,” Gin put in rapidly. He grinned, looking a touch sheepish. “We only have four pieces left.”

“Oh, yeah, the battleship and aeroplane fight,” Osamu sighed, remembering the previous year’s argument with ‘Tsumu.

“Aran confiscated them,” Suna explained. “Then lost them.”

Resigned, Suna was standing following the others to the lounge area. Osamu opened the games cupboard, pulling out the old Monopoly set and commandeered one of the tables.

“What’s this?” Yukimura asked, wandering in with Oomimi.

“Monopoly,” Gin replied, pointing to the box. He blinked, looking flustered. “Uh, there’s only four pieces though, Yukimura-san, and we lost some of the money and—”

“Relax,” Yukimura chided. “I’m not keen on board games, not when I could be practising something else.”

“You’re playing _now_ ,” Oomimi stated, a ‘really’ in his tone.

“Quick game, that’s all,” Osamu said. “Won’t take long…”

“Hey, this is the original, right?” Akagi said, grinning.

“Uh-huh. We had the Tokyo version, but…” Osamu trailed off, remembering how he and Atsumu had defaced the cards closest to Itchiyama and Fukurodani. “We ain’t keen on the big city.”

The board was set out, each player picking up what was left of the pieces. Osamu, leaving the dog for Gin, fumbled for the hat instead, leaving the iron to Suna and the thimble to Akagi. Suna divided the money, Gin found the mismatched dice and sorted the properties into colours, and then …

“Any local rules?” Akagi asked.

About to say no, Osamu was beaten to it by Suna. “What do you suggest, Akagi-san.”

Possibly surprised at the respect, Akagi narrowed his eyes then replied. “Back home we always used to put fines in the middle, then anyone who landed on Free Parking got the money.”

“Oooh, we used to do that,” Suna replied. “’Cept we put all the money in the middle. Kinda makes it more fun, don’t you think?”

“No, we’re not doing that—” Gin tried to protest.

But he was drowned out by Suna’s insistence and Akagi’s sudden enthusiasm.

Osamu glanced at the clock on the wall. Kita had been gone five minutes. His meeting with the coaches generally lasted an hour. They could get this finished in forty-five minutes if they sped it up, used the auction rule and—

“And I don’t like the auction rule,” Suna cut in.

“Oh, me neither,” Akagi replied.

“But, it stops the game dragging,” Gin said, his eyes also on the clock.

“Huh? Well, we’ve got all evening,” Akagi said, clearly unaware of the tension.

“You don’t have to play, Hitoshi,” Suna said, his voice hushed and sibilant.

Flashing him a dark look, Gin gritted his teeth and didn’t move. “Bring it on.”

For the first twenty minutes the game was hilarious. Akagi was one of those players that provided a commentary to everything, not in an annoying and increasingly boastful way like Atsumu did, but as if it really were a spectator sport. He had a wicked grin, too, and an eye for the chance, buying up everything he landed on until he’d landed himself a decent set of properties. Osamu focused on the streets, saving money for houses when he could. Next to him, Gin’s dog had trotted through the stations, buying three of them, both Utilities, plus Old Kent Road, Whitechapel, and—bizarrely—Mayfair.  Suna had a steady game, although he was definitely taking it slow, biding his time when he thought about buying, eyes always on the clock.

“200 please,” Osamu demanded as he passed Go.

“Hmm?”

“Hand it over, Suna,” he said glaring, and snatched it out of his hands.

“Wonder how much this is worth,” Suna drawled.

“Nothin’ it’s fake,” Osamu growled. “Shake the dice.”

Suna shook, landed on Community Chest and let his hands drift to the pile of cards. “I’ve won second prize in a beauty contest,” he said, smirking. “Wonder who was first.”

“Me, obviously,” Osamu said and flicked his hair. “Japan’s next top model.”

“With your brother?” Akagi asked. “Advertisers would love that.”

And he said it so nicely, that Osamu grinned instead of glowering. “I’m taller, so he might not make the grade.”

“That so?” Gin asked. “Atsumu reckoned he was taller—”

“Stop!” Suna was adamant.

“What did I say?” Gin spluttered, but he was reddening.

“Provoking Osamu so he gets …” Suna began then pressed his lips together.

“What am I missing here?” Akagi asked.

Osamu studied Gin, whose face was a picture of a kid caught stealing a biscuit, and snorted. “Nuthin’, Akagi-san. Suna-kun’s just makin’ sure I don’t get into trouble. Your turn, ‘Toshi.”

So that’s why he’d been desperate to play. Clearly the last but one square on his card involved something to do with Osamu, and probably Aran-san losing his stack.

They’d been playing forty-five minutes. Osamu had amassed property by now, although the lack of hotels (he seemed to remember Atsumu last time had got really pissed off and had thrown them all out the window when Osamu was about to win) meant his properties were piled high with houses. Gin was almost broke, mortgaging his properties and missing out on huge fines when anyone landed. Suna was playing steadily, the type of person you could never discount, but it was Akagi who was storming through, despite a spell in jail, he’d also landed on Free Parking and had scooped the biggest of jackpots, letting out a whoop that shook the room.

“Hey, keep it down, Osamu!” Aran yelled.

“Wasn’t me!” he protested.

“It’s always you or that moronic brother,” Aran snarled. “I’ve got a headache, so quit, okay!”

“Yess,” Gin hissed, delighted when Suna gave a weary nod.

“But it really wasn’t me! It was Aka—”

“It actually was me,” Akagi said, holding up his hand. “Getting carried away as I grind my kouhais to dust. Sorry, Aran-kun, we’ll keep it down.”

“Ah… okay,” Aran bit his lip. “Well, you should probably finish soon, before … uh …”

Akagi grinned. “Nearly done. I’m about to bankrupt the lot of them.”

Flapping his hand, Aran settled back to the game of Patience he had set out in front of him _. Maybe they should invent a game called ‘Short Tempered’,_ Osamu thought. _Be more fitting._

Take it you’re down to one square, he muttered to Gin.

“Yeah, Aran-san calling you a moron… oh, it was Atsumu, wasn’t it?”

“Ha! He didn’t, Gin-chan. You’re back to two squares like me.”

“The actual wording,” Suna said, ignoring Akagi’s puzzled frown, “is calling Miya some form of moron. You are Miya, so it stands.”

“No, not fair!”

“What is going on, guys?”

“Osamu’s about to be broke for the next month, that’s all,” Suna replied with a smirk.

“Not yet! Now get on with this fricking game!”

It was fast and furious, however much Suna and Gin tried to hold things up, by throwing dice so they flipped off the table, or Gin making the dog do a stupid, stupid, _stupid_ dance across the board when he managed to unmortgage Mayfair. And by now Osamu didn’t care if he won Monopoly or not. It was about finishing, and finishing before Kita-san returned and saw what a pig’s ear they were making of the game he cherished.

It had been fifty-five minutes. The game was close to finishing, with Gin unable to recover and Suna now having to hand over a large portion of his cash to Osamu for landing on Piccadilly Circus, and if they were lucky, Kita would be delayed with the coaches because sometimes the meetings drifted on past the hour. So they could finish up, declare Akagi the winner (that was fine-fine he really didn’t mind losing. Not this once) and pack it all away before—

The door creaked open, the sound of voices drifted towards them all, Kurosu telling some complicated story about a walk he’d taken his dog on, and Kita’s polite reply.

“Not sure that’s in the rules, Osamu,” Suna began, raising his voice.

“You bastard!” Lunging forwards, Osamu folded the board in half sending the pieces flying as he stuffed it back in the box, grabbing the money to place on the top. But the floor was littered with houses, little green cubes of plastic scattered around the room, the tell tale sign that they’d been playing. And perhaps he shouldn’t have been bothered. Accompanied by the Coaches, Kita would no doubt keep a lid on any irritation he felt at the flouting of the rules of the game, but Osamu hadn’t thought, and he didn’t think again, instead scooping up the green houses, shovelling them in his mouth, and kicking the monopoly box under the table.

“Everything all right, boys?” Kurosu asked, scanning the room. “Osamu, I thought you’d had enough to eat.”

“Mmfmmm,” Osamu nodded. The houses were digging into the roof of his mouth god knows how many he’d stuffed in there, but the discomfort was getting to him.

With a click of his tongue, Kurosu left the room, and Kita, after a puzzled look at Osamu asked them to gather round.

And it was a relief knowing he’d got away with it, so Osamu began to chuckle. The problem with chuckling when your mouth is stuffed full of green monopoly houses is that they don’t want to stay still and began to dribble out of his mouth.

“Osamu?” Kita was standing over him. “What is that?”

“Hanahaki.” Gin suggested, unable to stop snorting. “’Cept with Samu it’s plastic houses not flowers.”

“Osamu…”

The feeling in his mouth was getting worse, plastic edges digging in and now. He heaved in a breath trying to fight the insane urge to giggle

And then things went very wrong.

“Hngg. Hngg Hllp!” he spluttered, the restriction in his throat not helped at all as he spewed the rest of the houses out on the floor and Kita’s feet. “Hnnggg. Hccckkkkk.”

He could feel is throat tightening, the air in his lungs building up as he tried to expel a breath, and the laughing faces around him began to falter, to stop and even fret as he fought for breath.

***

He was fighting for breath, a sharp lump stuck in his gullet. But he’d been asleep, hadn’t eaten anything for a while, only sipped some water before lapsing back into his pillow, not thinking of anything, not volleyball or bingo or…

“SAMU!” Atsumu screamed.

Except he couldn’t scream. The word tore at his larynx, and no one could hear. He rolled off his bed, heaving his lethargic, leaden limbs towards his door. “Mum. Dad!”

“Atsumu-chan…”

Someone had heard. Someone was coming. Someone with concern in her voice, all for him, but it wasn’t ‘Tsumu that needed help, ‘Samu was choking, ‘Samu couldn’t breathe, ‘Samu was—

***

“Don’t!” Kita ordered. “Kaage, if you don’t know the Heimlich manoeuvre then it could make it worse.”

Osamu heard the conversation, knew it was about him, but it was as if he weren’t there but watching some crappity medical soap on TV. Something was prickling the back of his mouth and he tried again to cough, but each time he tried to inhale, a pain shot through him.

Someone slapped him hard on the back. Between his shoulder blades.  One. Two. Three. A pause. Four. Five. A pause. One. Two.

The green house. The tiny cube of plastic shot out and landed at Suna’s feet. Suna, so normally expressionless, had widened his eyes, and his face was the grey, stock still.

“Was that the only one?” someone murmured from behind.

“Sorry?” Osamu rasped.

“Osamu-kun,” Kita said, his hands moving to Osamu’s shoulders. “Have you any more houses stuck in your throat?”

It was Kita who’d slapped him, Kita who’d delivered the blows, Kita-san who’d saved him.

“Oh …. No.” His breath was coming back now, shuddering through his lungs. “Thank you, Kita-san.”

“It’s a very odd way to avoid paying rent, Osamu-kun,” Kita said mildly, releasing him. “Perhaps you should pay up next time.”

And then his phone rang, and in the deathly silence around them, even Kita’s eyes widened as he recognised the tone.

“Atsumu,” Kita answered, no question in his voice. “Yes, Osamu’s fine. I promise you.” He chuckled, very slightly. “Well, you know how hungry he gets, but I think that’s one snack he won’t try again.”

***

“He’s okay,” Atsumu muttered, and blinked rapidly. “Kita-senpai says he’s fine.”

“Then get back into bed, Atsumu-chan, and I’ll bring you some broth.”

He sniffed and crawled back to flop on his bed, a slight smile on his face as he looked up at her. “What are you doing here, Granny?”

“I’ve come to look after you,” she said, and her eyes twinkled. “Your parents can take their break.”

“But what if you get sick?” he replied, and muffled his mouth against his sleeve.

She snorted, and stood watching her hands on her hips. “I had the inoculation. You, however, didn’t go through with it, your parents said.”

“Ah … yeah …” He’d missed it, far more occupied by working out the next evolution of his jump serve than getting a needle stuck in his arm for a virus that had seemed distant and far off back in October. “Sorry, Granny.”

She sighed. “You’re the one who’s ill, Atsumu-chan.”

 

It was after breakfast the following day, when her special miso soup had trickled down his throat and he was actually sitting up rather than lolling, that she came and sat in an armchair by his bedside. The grey threads in her hair glinted in the spring sunshine seeping through the curtains, but in that soft light she looked younger than her sixty-odd years, despite the fact she’d pulled out some knitting.

 “What are you making?” he asked.

“A jumper. Or rather a pair. Now, this one is green, and I thought about making the other one blue, unless you’d rather have another colour.”

“Blue’s good,” he said. “But c’n I have the green?”

“Of course.”

The needles clacked for a while, no words floating between them, and he watched her, watched the focus as she adjusted the needles and the wool, changing the stitches so a pattern like twisted rope wove under her fingers.

“You have to be pretty good to do that, right?”

“Hmm? Maybe.”

“How long you been knitting for, Granny?”

She smiled. “About sixteen years. Started with booties, tiny hats and woollen mittens. Although the pair of you would never keep them on, so I don’t know why I continued. But it …” She sighed, more to herself than to Atsumu, not wishing to dwell perhaps. “It kept my mind occupied after your granddad died.” She smiled, fond but a little wistful, then shook her head at the memories. “What shall we do today, Atsumu-chan?”

“Oh.” He studied her again, this time focusing on the way her fingers nimbly twisted the yarn around the needles. Something to occupy his mind …. That could also exercise his fingers. And he was sure Kita-san would approve. “Could you teach me?” Then he stopped as the thought of Kita and Oomimi sipping tea sprung into his mind. “But don’t tell ‘Samu, right.”

The needles continued, winding the wool on its journey, and she winked, loving the subterfuge. “Our secret, Atsumu-chan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, that was a long chapter. Hope you enjoyed it - those darn twins take over everything!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my twitter friends and fellow Inarizaki fans for cheering me on and providing a lot of inspiration for this story.


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